Nowhere Man
by Tex-chan
Summary: When Yohji fails to back Aya up on a simple mission, he has to find his missing teammate and help Aya find something he had thought lost forever a place to belong. Part 1 of a Trilogy. Continues in Betrayal.
1. Default Chapter

**CHAPTER 1**

_**Note: **_This story is the first in a trilogy, although it can actually stand on its own, too. I might post the other two stories on ff.net, but I haven't decided yet. You can probably consider some things in here regarding Aya's background to be a bit AU ... and, a final word of warning: I tend to take things I like from all over the Weiss universe (i.e., manga, WK series, and Gluhen) and mix them all together in my stories. Hope that won't put anyone off too much or interfere with anyone's enjoyment of the fic. _~Tex-chan_

Aya sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his trench coat. He could hear sirens approaching from several directions now, and the flashing strobes of police car lights already partially illuminated the alleyway in which he was hiding. He could hear policemen shouting as they canvassed the area around the office building several blocks away, where he had made his kill, and, when he stuck his head out of the doorway that concealed him, he could see the pinpoints of their flashlights bobbing up and down as they approached the alley.

"This job sucks," he muttered, as he thought about how his mother had always told him to study hard and go to medical school. When he was a kid, it had sounded so boring, but, now, he fervently wished that things had turned out differently, so that he could have taken her advice.

Aya choked back a cough and a sneeze and tried, without much success, to wipe the water off of his face. It had been raining, practically nonstop, for over a week, and the rain was currently pelting mercilessly down on him. It seemed as if the sky had opened to unleash sheets of water on the earth below it, and, although it was only early fall, it was unseasonably cold. His target's office building was in the middle of downtown, and he had been forced to walk over ten blocks so that no one would see his car. As a result, he had been soaked and freezing by the time he had entered the deserted high rise to stalk and kill his prey.

Although he had successfully disposed of the target, he had tripped an alarm that Kritiker hadn't warned him about, and that even Omi's intel. reconnaissance had failed to discover. Within minutes, he had heard sirens screeching through the streets as the police closed in on his location, and getting out of the building had been very difficult. He had eventually managed to elude the officers, but he hadn't been able to safely return to his car. He didn't know exactly how long he had been hiding here, but he guessed it was at least half an hour. Although the alley's deep shadows offered shelter from the prying, probing lights seeking to expose him, it gave him no relief from the rain, and he could feel the cold water seeping through his thick coat, the clothes underneath, and even his heavy leather boots to reach his bare skin. The wind gusted through the alley, tunneled by the tall buildings on either side, and hit his wet body, causing him to shiver. He pulled his coat closer in a futile attempt to gain a little bit of warmth from the soaked leather.

He could hear police officers approaching his position. Their boots made a squelching noise as they splashed through the puddles on the ground, and he could hear the metallic jangling of their equipment as they jogged through the pouring rain. From the sound of it, he only had a few minutes before they reached his location. He could feel his heart thumping heavily against his ribs, as if it would jump right out of his chest, and he wondered if this was the end of the line. He had already decided that he wouldn't let the police take him alive. He had to buy protection for the other members of Weiss, and, if he was caught, his death was the only thing that could do that. Even if he had been inclined to surrender, he doubted he would have made it as far as the police station. Kritiker had spies and operatives everywhere, and the organization didn't like assassins who got caught, or who might turn into a chatterbox of information. He desperately scanned the area, searching for something he could use, somewhere he could hide, but there was nothing. The alley was bare and empty, except for a few doorways and garbage cans, neither of which would afford him any cover from the prying flashlights of the approaching officers.

"Something something anything," he hissed under his breath as he quietly stumbled out of his hiding place and into the alley's deepest shadows. "There has to be something." He coughed and winced as the harsh, shuddering sound rattled out of his chest and made his lungs ache. He could hear one of the policemen shouting for the others to follow. Aya could only guess that the man had been drawn into the alley by the sound of his cough.

As he backed into the doorway behind him, mentally preparing to meet death, he stumbled and almost fell. Getting quickly to his feet, he glared around angrily at the object that had blocked his path. It was a homeless man, sleeping in the doorway to take advantage of what little shelter he could find from the rain. The man had on a long, dirty, olive green, canvas trench coat and a dirty, stained ball cap. He was snoring loudly and clutching a half-full bottle of vodka. It had obviously been quite some time since the guy had seen the inside of a building or a shower. He had a scraggly, brown beard, and his skin was so dirty that it seemed almost black. Aya could see dirty, greasy brown hair peeking out from under the cap.

"Down here!"

Aya's head snapped around toward the street. He looked back at the man sleeping in front of him and frowned. His stomach lurched at the thought of touching someone so dirty, and he briefly debated over whether or not it would be preferable to just let the police kill him. No, that was just stupid. Aya shook his head angrily and, keeping his ears trained on the sound of the ever-approaching footsteps, he bent down and quickly stripped the dirty coat and ball cap off of the man. The guy was so drunk that he didn't resist. He probably didn't even know he was being robbed.

"Sorry, buddy," Aya murmured as he pulled the soaking wet garments off of the homeless man.

Upon accomplishing that task, he gently pulled the guy, who was lying face-down, over onto his side. He deposited his sword on the ground underneath the man and then rolled him back over onto his stomach. He glanced nervously out into the alley, toward the running footsteps that were now almost on top of him. Luckily, the shadows here were particularly deep, and the foul weather aided him by making it just that much darker. He knew they wouldn't see him until they were standing directly in front of the doorway. He quickly shrugged out of his leather coat, wincing as he felt the gunshot wounds in his side and shoulder tear open, and he silently cursed the luck that had allowed the pursuing officers to hit him as he fled. He could feel his blood mixing with the rain to run down his back, arm, and side, and he glanced down at his feet to see droplets of the thick, red liquid pooling there. He just hoped the police wouldn't notice it. Shrugging off the pain, he draped his coat over the man in front of him. The homeless guy was a little smaller than he was, and the coat seemed to swallow him as the heavy folds of fabric billowed around his sleeping form. Aya pulled one of the extra folds of material over to camouflage the drops of blood he had noticed earlier. He took one more nervous look around the alley, and, frowning at the thought of what he was about to do, bent down to rub his hands against the dirty concrete until they were covered in grime. He rubbed the dirt onto his face and hands to hide his pale skin, and pulled on the homeless guy's coat and ball cap. He grabbed the guy's bottle of vodka, wiped off the top, and took a huge swig, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. Shrugging, he splashed some of the liquid onto his clothing.

'Might as well smell the part,' he thought as he turned from the homeless man and settled down against the other side of the doorway, his back to the alley. He shivered as the cold wind blew over him. The clothing didn't provide any more shelter than the doorway, and the wind felt like knives cutting into his wet skin. He was sure he had been this cold at some point in his life, but he absolutely couldn't remember it right now. He shivered and coughed, wishing he could physically clutch at his aching lungs. Holding onto the liquor bottle he had taken from the homeless man, he silently prayed that his little ruse would work and cause the police to pass him over as just another homeless bum. As he gave in to the darkness that had been pushing in on the edges of his mind, he heard the sound of footsteps and metallic jangling stop a few feet away from his hiding spot.

"Hey, whatcha got? Anything?" A voice called out as one of the police officers stepped into the doorway and looked down at the two figures lying there. The young officer moved forward and nudged at the homeless man, who groaned, but didn't move or wake up. He then moved over to take a closer look at the second figure. He reached down and took the baseball cap off of Aya's head, and grabbed his hair to pull his face away from the door against which it rested so that he could take a closer look at him.

"Hey, Hiro," the officer called out to his companion, who approached to look over his shoulder. "What did that guy look like?"

Hiro shrugged and walked around his partner to stand next to Aya as he replied, "Don't know. No one got a really good look at him. They didn't see his face just a shadowy figure running from the dead guy's office in the penthouse." He kicked Aya, eliciting a groan from the unconscious redhead. "Can't be this guy. I mean, look at him. He's filthy, and he reeks of alcohol. Nope I'd say this guy's been right here, all night long." He placed his hand on his partner's shoulder, and said, "Come on. We have a lot more alleys to search." He looked around, over his shoulder, and shook the rain off of his hat with an irritated gesture. "Don't really expect we're gonna find him, though. That guy was a pro, and, in this rain it's damn impossible to see more than a couple of feet in front of your face. That guy's a ghost, if it was a guy. We probably wouldn't even see him if he was right in front of us."

"Yeah," the first officer said. He gently laid Aya back against the rough, wooden doorway and replaced the filthy baseball cap. "Sleep well, fella," he muttered, before turning away to follow Hiro back to the street.

*****************************************************

The music rumbled through the crowded, smoky club, blending with the patrons' raised voices to create a dull, yet deafening, roar that seemed to hang right at the back of your subconscious until it flowed down into your bones to become a part of your body. Yohji loved loud, crowded places. He hated being alone, especially on nights like this, when he couldn't stop thinking about Asuka, but, yet, when she filled his thoughts this way, he couldn't help but feel alone. Whenever she invaded his mind and refused to leave, he retreated to places like this --- noisy, crowded clubs where he could be alone in a crowd of people. When he felt the music pounding through his body, he could almost feel alive once again --- the way she had made him feel. He had lost the ability to feel the giddy rush of being alive, the joy of being with someone you loved, when he had lost her, and he missed that feeling. He knew it was hopeless, and that he would never have it again, but, in places like this, he felt like he could almost reach out and grab onto it.

The last time he had been with Asuka, just two days before she had died, it had been a night just like this. He could still remember the way their bodies had moved in time to the thunder and rushing wind from the storm blowing outside of his apartment. It seemed like it had been a long time since he had watched her die, but he could still remember the way she had felt, pressed up against his body, the touch of her bare skin against his, the smell of her perfume, and the way she had tasted.

He sighed and shook his drink, causing the ice to clink against the side of the glass. A girl approached him, wearing a flirty smile and a definite "come hither" look. She wasn't the first to approach him tonight, and she probably wouldn't be the last, but he wasn't in any mood for company. He smiled charmingly, pulled her close, and softly muttered his regrets in her ear. Like all the others, she walked away without any hard feelings. Yohji just had a way of turning women away without making them feel rejected. She retreated back to her seat at the end of the bar, and Yohji signaled to the bartender, who nodded and moved to set a fresh drink in front of the woman, explaining to her that it was from him. She smiled and waved her thanks. Yohji pulled his sunglasses down lower on his nose to regard her over their rims, and smiled back at her.

He drained his glass and signaled the bartender to let the man know it was time for another round. As he waited for his drink, he looked at his watch and winced when he noticed it was almost three A.M. He was supposed to be Aya's back up for the mission tonight. He had been on his way to meet the swordsman at the target's office building when Asuka took up residence in his head and refused to leave, and, before he knew it, he was sitting here in this noisy club slamming down drinks almost as fast as the bartender could pour them. Now, he was at least three hours overdue, and he knew he was going to really catch it from their leader when he got back to the flower shop tonight. He shrugged as he thought that he'd probably really catch hell from Omi, too, for once. Normally, the youngest Weiss member was the most even tempered of all of them, and he functioned as the peacemaker of the group. But, Yohji knew the boy would be livid with him for forcing Aya to go on this mission alone.

When Manx first presented them with the mission details, Aya had decided it was a solo mission, and he planned on carrying it out alone. But, the redhead had been fighting a cold since their last mission a few weeks ago, and Omi had insisted that someone go with him, "just in case". Ken was out of town for a week, counseling at some kind of kids' soccer camp, and Omi had to finish a report for school, which had left Yohji as the designated back up hitter for the evening.

He sighed and checked his watch again. "Well," he muttered, "If I'm catch Hell, anyhow, I might as well make it worth my while." He signaled the bartender to let the man know he wanted a double, and sat back, prepared to wait out the night in the crowded, noisy bar.

Yohji jumped when his cell phone rang into his train of thought. He was surprised that he could even hear it over all of the background noise in the club, and he fumbled with it for a few seconds before finally managing to fish it out of his pocket and bring it up to his ear.

"Hello? Hello?" he yelled, struggling to be heard above the crowd.

"Yohji?" Omi's voice squeaked out through the phone, making the tall blonde wince.

"Yeah," he replied hesitantly, dragging out the word. He fully expected the boy to tell him that Aya had returned and was throwing a tantrum over his absence.

"Where the hell are you?" Omi asked. The boy's voice took on a hard, suspicious tone. "It doesn't sound like you're at the mission site. Is that music? Are you at a bar?"

"Yeah," Yohji responded, "I'm at a bar. So?" The defensive tone of his voice made him wince internally. He knew that it came across the phone line like a red flag, announcing his guilt to the youngest team member.

Omi sighed. "How was the mission, then?"

Yohji quickly stood, tossed some money onto the table, and walked toward the door as he replied, "I don't know. I never got there. Why don't you just ask Aya?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as if Omi was trying to digest the information Yohji had just shared. By the time the boy spoke again, Yohji had left the club for the relative quiet of the parking lot.

"Isn't he with you?" Omi asked. The boy paused again, as if only just figuring out what Yohji had told him, and then continued, "What do you mean you never got there?"

"Well " Yohji stammered, searching for a way to explain his dereliction of duty. "Well I uh,"

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Omi screamed.

Yohji winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. He could still hear the boy yelling at him.

"You were his back up! How could you just not show up? Even for you, that's that's unforgivable. You stupid, selfish asshole!"

Yohji knew the harsh words were deserved. He had been feeling guilty all night over ditching Aya, and he knew he couldn't ever adequately explain his actions. He didn't even really understand it himself, so he knew he couldn't offer any kind of rational excuse. He didn't try to defend himself. He just let the boy rant until Omi finally ran out of breath.

"I'm sorry," he muttered into the phone. "But, look, he's a big boy, and he said all along that this was just a one person mission. A simple, in and out job. He didn't even want any back up, in the first place."

"But, he's sick!" Omi squeaked. "He shouldn't have even been on the stupid mission, but I knew he wouldn't refuse it. He never does. That's why I wanted him to at least take someone along." The boy sighed in frustration before continuing, "Shit. I knew I should have just gone myself."

Yohji felt a new wave of guilt wash over him as he realized that Omi was actually blaming himself for Aya's unexpected solo mission. He remembered that the boy had wanted to go with their leader, but Aya had insisted that he stay home to finish his school report. 'I'm such a shit,' Yohji thought, shaking his head. Suddenly, a new thought worked its way up to the front of his alcohol-soaked brain.

"Wait, a minute," he said, his hands beginning to shake with the realization of the meaning behind Omi's phone call. "Isn't he home yet?"

"No!" Omi snapped. "Why do you think I'm calling you? He well, both of you, actually," Omi continued, emphasizing the word "both" to drive home the fact that Yohji should feel really, really guilty over his behavior, "should have been home hours ago. But, there hasn't been any sign of anyone. I can't get him on his cell or on the comm." The boy sighed. "All right. Just forget it. Talking to you is a complete waste of time. I'm going to go look for him."

"Wait!" Yohji yelled into the phone, stopping Omi before the boy could sever their connection. "You stay there, in case he calls or comes back. I'm already out. I'll go look."

********************************************************************

Aya drifted in and out of the fuzzy gray and black cloud surrounding him. He was dimly aware of the heavy rain pelting down on him. It felt like little needles stinging his already soaked skin. The wind howled and whipped down the narrow alley, mercilessly pounding against him as he tried to shrink further into the doorway for protection. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was still aware enough to know that, soon, his body would be beyond the point of feeling anything at all. He had planned on returning to his car as soon as the police were away from this area, but he just didn't have the strength he needed to do it. So, instead, he resigned himself to spending the rest of the night here, in this doorway, wearing a soaking wet, filthy coat he had stolen off of the drunk sleeping a few inches away from him.

Aya managed to summon up the strength to lift his head and look at the other man, and he couldn't help thinking that they weren't all that different. When his parents had been killed and his sister injured, he had been lost, alone, and full of rage. He hadn't had anywhere to go. If he hadn't joined Kritiker, he would have probably ended up just like that man. If he survived Weiss, he would probably still end up like that guy.

'Face it, Ran,' he thought, 'you still don't have anywhere to go. You don't belong anywhere. You don't belong to anyone. No one cares what happens to you not even you. Just like in that song a "Nowhere Man". You're just the same just the same as that guy.'

He coughed violently and doubled over, holding his aching ribs and side. The darkness pushed against his mind again, calling to him with a sweet, persuasive voice. He gave into it without even fighting, almost grateful for the relief it provided from the cold and the pain that were pounding away at him. As he slipped into unconsciousness, his last thought was that he didn't belong anywhere --- that he had nowhere to go.

****


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Yohji cursed as he stepped out of his car into the cold, pouring rain and approached Aya's Porsche. It hadn't been difficult for him to locate his teammate's car. He knew Aya well enough to know that he'd park fairly far away and walk to the kill site to prevent his car from being seen, and the tracking equipment installed on the automobile saw to the rest. But, still, as he stepped out of his vehicle, Yohji couldn't help but think that ten blocks seemed a bit excessive, even for someone as anal-retentive and compulsive as their leader. The tall blonde knew he'd have to go the rest of the way on foot, in order to retrace Aya's steps and investigate any potential hiding places, and the thought of walking that far, especially in the pouring rain and harsh, whipping wind, made him cringe. Yohji was a dyed-in-the-wool comfort whore. It wasn't something he tried to deny or hide from the rest of the world, and, in fact, he took a perverse sort of pride in it. Walking around in a rainstorm was definitely not something a comfort whore would do. He swore under his breath and thought about how much he hated Aya for subjecting him to this horrible, inhuman state of affairs as he deftly popped the locks on the redhead's car. A quick look inside told him that Aya hadn't been there for a while, but the light glinted off of something just under the passenger-side seat, catching his eye. Yohji leaned half in and half out of the car to drape his tall form over the seat in order to look underneath. Grunting, he retrieved Aya's cell phone and regarded it with an air of disdain.

"Well," he muttered, "That explains why Omi couldn't get him on the cell."

He felt a brief wave of anger wash over him because Aya had left the phone behind, but his common sense quickly dispelled it. Of course, he wouldn't have taken the phone with him on the mission; none of them would have done something like that, for fear it would ring at an inopportune moment, or that it would be lost in the heat of a fight, allowing someone to trace it back to Weiss and Kritiker. But, finding the cell phone still didn't tell him why the boy hadn't been able to contact Aya on the communicator.

The tall blonde sighed and stuffed the phone into the pocket of his leather trench. Since he had been on his way to join Aya for the mission when he suddenly detoured to the bar where Omi had finally found him, Yohji was wearing what he normally, laughingly, referred to as his "killing clothes" --- black leather pants, black sleeveless half-shirt, heavy black leather boots, the long black leather trench coat with the white crosses on each arm, and, of course, his always-present dark sunglasses. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears, seeking what little shelter he could gain from the blowing rain, and set off in the direction of the target's office building. Within less than five minutes, he could feel water seeping through his coat to soak his skin, and the wind seemed to cut right through him, chilling him to the bone. He shivered and pulled his coat closer to his body, silently cursing Aya for forcing him out into this foul weather.

"When I find that selfish little prick," he muttered, "I'm gonna beat the shit out of him for dragging me out into this storm." Almost as soon as the words escaped his mouth, Yohji felt guilt wash over him as he recalled that, had it not been for his unexpected no-show tonight, neither he nor their leader would be out in the weather. Guilt was an unfamiliar emotion, and it made him distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't know exactly how, but he was sure that this was Aya's fault, too. He continued to grumble under his breath as he retraced what seemed like Aya's most likely path.

It took several minutes longer to reach the office building than he expected, thanks to the blowing rain. Yohji approached the building from the side, sticking to the shadows at the edge of the streetlights. When he was two blocks away, he could already see the flashing strobe lights from the police cars surrounding the structure. It was obvious that something had gone horribly wrong with the mission. He stood in the shadows for a while, watching the activity going on around the high-rise. Cops were swarming over it like ants, and, judging from the frantic way they continually entered and exited the building, as well as the lights he could see going on and off on various floors, it appeared that they hadn't located Aya. Yohji decided that it had to mean the redhead had managed to get safely out of the kill zone. He didn't really have any other choice but to believe in Aya's almost innate ability to get in and out of tight places. If he was still in the building, he was already beyond Yohji's help. The tall blonde knew he'd never be able to avoid the police long enough to enter and search the office building.

He skirted through the shadows around the back of the high rise. He knew Aya well enough to know that he would do anything possible to keep the police from tying him to the rest of Weiss, which meant that, if he was on the run, the swordsman would head away from his car. Once he was a block away from the building, Yohji had an easier time avoiding the police, although they seemed to be out in full force, canvassing the alleyways within a several block radius of the kill zone.

Yohji ducked into the nearest alley as a police car slowly cruised by and an officer used a large flashlight to partially penetrate the murky darkness. He pulled Aya's phone from his pocket and punched in the number for the flower shop, hoping against hope that their leader had somehow, miraculously, shown up there during the time that had elapsed since his earlier conversation with Omi.

The phone only rang twice before he heard Omi's breathless voice on the other end.

"Aya?" the boy asked. The poor kid sounded frantic, which only increased the guilt that had been plaguing Yohji all night.

"No, it's me," the tall blonde replied. He paused for a moment, and then continued, "So, I guess he hasn't come home?"

"No," Omi replied shortly. The boy was still furious. After a few moments, Omi stated, flatly, "You didn't find him."

"No not yet," Yohji responded. "It's like all hell's broken loose down here. Something must've gone wrong. There are cops all over the damn place. They're crawling all over the building like ants, searching floor to floor, and they're out in full force, canvassing the alleys around here. I'm having a hard time avoiding them."

"You think you think he's still in the building?" Omi asked uncertainly. Yohji could hear a slight quaver in the boy's voice.

The tall blonde paused for a few moments, mulling over Omi's question. "No," he finally answered, "I don't think so. The cops are too frantic. If he was cornered in the building, they wouldn't be rushing around like crazy people. They'd be closing in on his location in a more systematic way. Plus, they wouldn't be searching the surrounding streets and alleys. I'm pretty sure he got out. He's like a cat that way, you know always able to get in and out of tight spots."

The only answer he received was Omi's stony silence.

"Try not to worry," Yohji said quietly. "I'll find him."

He hung up the phone and paused in the alley's shadows, waiting for yet another police car, the fifth to pass by in just the last few minutes, to clear the area. As soon as it was far enough up the street to assure that he wouldn't be seen, Yohji left the alley and continued down the street, slinking carefully from shadow to shadow. He ducked into every alley he passed, softly calling Aya's name, but, each time, silence was the only answer he received. He quickly searched each doorway and behind each stack of garbage cans, but there was no sign of the redhead. The rain, which was still pouring down in sheets, was both a blessing and a curse. He knew that the foul weather was helping to conceal his presence, and probably, Aya's, from the police. But, it was also making his search for the swordsman next to impossible. After a quick but thorough search of each alley, he moved on to the next one, and the next, and the next.

Yohji wasn't certain how long he had been looking for Aya when the sound of shouting drew his attention to an alley almost a block away. The raised, angry voice was loud enough to carry to him even over the storm's noise, and the tall blonde broke into a run, forgetting all about hiding from the prying eyes of the police. He had to reach the alley before the sound drew their attention, as well. If they had been searching on foot instead of in cars, they probably would have already heard it, and he thanked his lucky stars that the weather seemed to be discouraging the officers from their usual diligence.

Yohji skidded to a stop, panting, in the alley's mouth within a few seconds. The voice was louder now, and he could tell that there was only one person shouting. He strained his eyes against the darkness and blowing rain obscuring his vision. Finally, he could discern the fuzzy outlines of a man about a third of the way down the alley. It looked like he was bending over something, and he was shouting and waving his arms angrily over his head. Yohji shrugged and jogged the short distance down the alley.

As he neared the hunched-over figure, the scene came into sharper view. A homeless man, dirty, ragged, soaking wet, and clothed only in a filthy t-shirt and pants, was bending down, holding another person up off of the ground by the front of a ragged, canvas jacket.

The man shook the limp figure roughly and yelled, "You stupid asshole! That's my fucking coat! You stole my coat!"

Yohji could see that the other person didn't fight back or respond to the homeless man's accusations. As he approached from behind, the man shook the limp body angrily, causing its cap to fall off and revealing a glimpse of red hair. The tall blonde felt his stomach tie up in knots, and he leaped forward to grab the homeless man just as he was about to bring a half-full liquor bottle down on Aya's head.

"Hey!" Yohji yelled. He grabbed the homeless man by the collar and pulled him roughly back, away from the redhead.

The man stumbled backward and crashed into the pile of garbage cans across the alley, but he regained his footing with surprising speed and charged angrily back across the narrow open space, brandishing the bottle like a club. Yohji positioned himself between the homeless man and Aya, and easily met the attack. He grabbed the arm holding the bottle and twisted it, while, at the same time, sweeping his foot behind the man's legs to bring him to his knees. Once the guy was on the ground, Yohji moved behind him and twisted the man's arm painfully behind his back.

"Hey! What's the big idea?" the stranger protested. "This is none of your damn business."

Yohji leaned down so that his face was inches away from the man's ear, and whispered in his deadliest voice, "It **is** my business. That one he belongs to me."

He winced internally at how jealous and possessive the statement sounded, and he fought back the urge to explain himself to the homeless man kneeling in front of him. He hadn't meant it **that** way --- not the way it sounded. But, it did feel like Aya was his, in a way. Whenever the redhead disappeared, which he frequently did when he was in one of his "moods", it was normally Yohji who ended up going out to look for him, and, whenever Aya was in "anti-social-I-hate-everyone-especially-you-so-don't-talk-to-me- unless-you-want-to-die" mode, Yohji was typically the only one of the group who could talk him back to what passed for normal. Ken and Omi both cared about him in their own way, but they were too afraid of their leader to approach him or argue with him even on the best of days. So, it usually fell to Yohji to keep the redhead on an even keel. More often than not, the tall blonde truly believed that Aya played the high-strung drama queen just to piss him off and make his life miserable, and, normally, he hated and resented the redhead for the knack he had of making everything so damn difficult. But, without realizing it, Yohji had developed a paternalistic, big brotherly feeling toward their leader, and seeing this guy standing over Aya like that had just about blown the last fuse he had left.

Yohji choked back the words of explanation before they could escape his lips, and fought back the urge to slam his fist into the side of the stranger's head. After all, who the hell did this guy think he was? He didn't even know them; he had no business knowing about the complicated relationships between the members of Weiss. Yohji scowled angrily down at the man at his feet. A small groan of pain and the frightened look in the man's eyes jerked the blonde back from his thoughts. Yohji shrugged off another urge to smack this guy a good one --- this time for making him feel foolish.

'After all,' he thought, as he looked down at the man kneeling painfully before him, 'he really didn't do anything. I mean, he's just here wrong place, wrong time. Story of my life of all of our lives.'

Just as his grip on the homeless man began to loosen, the picture of this guy bending over Aya, brandishing the liquor bottle like a club, reasserted itself. The tall blonde snarled in anger, tightening his grip on the man's arm, and smiled when his prey yelped in pain. He reached down to remove a long-bladed knife from his boot and held its jagged edge to the man's throat, slightly cutting into the soft flesh. He felt the homeless man stiffen in fear. "Now, why don't you tell me why I shouldn't just cut your throat right here? But, talk fast, because I hate being out in the rain, and I'm already in a bad mood."

"I I didn't do nothing to him!" the homeless man stammered. "He he was already like that when I woke up." He twisted around slightly, careful of the blade pinching the skin of his throat, to look at Yohji's face and managed to catch a glimpse of hard, angry, green eyes glittering behind the dark sunglasses the tall blonde wore. "I I just wanted my coat back," he whimpered.

Yohji released the man and put the knife back into its sheath in his boot. He regarded the guy for a few seconds, and then reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet. "Look," he said, digging out all the cash he had, "I'll do you one better than the coat, OK?" He tossed the money onto the ground near the stranger and continued, "This should be enough to let you get a hotel room for tonight, so go on and get out of the rain."

The homeless man stared at Yohji for a moment, as if he was afraid the tall blonde would move in to attack him again once he touched the money. Finally, he quickly gathered up the cash and skittered down the alley toward the street, muttering his thanks as he ran, his stolen coat completely forgotten.

Yohji watched him until he was out of sight, and then he turned his attention to Aya, who was still lying on the wet ground, in a puddle, right where the homeless man had dropped him. The redhead was eerily still, and Yohji couldn't help but remember how he hadn't fought back when the homeless man attacked him.

"Aya," Yohji called, kneeling next to the swordsman and shaking him gently. When Aya didn't reply, he shook him again, a little harder. "Aya!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Aya! Open your eyes and look at me!"

****


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 

_Aya opened his eyes to find he was lying on his back in an open field. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he knew he must have, since he had that fuzzy, slightly confused feeling he always had when he woke up in a strange place. The sun was warming his body, and it had been a long time since he had felt so warm and comfortable. The sky was a bright blue --- the kind of blue that was so pure it made your eyes water if you looked at it for too long. He could feel the tall, soft grass, which seemed to tower above him, caressing his bare arms._

_"Ran! Ran! Get up, and come play!"_

_He jerked into a sitting position at the sound of the familiar voice. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time, and that he had believed was forever lost to him. He looked around desperately, and smiled when he finally saw his little sister. She was sitting a few feet away from him, in the middle of a small patch of bright yellow flowers, and she was weaving them into a long chain. She smiled at him, and he felt his heart jump in his chest. It seemed like it had been so long since he had seen that smile. He laughed and jumped to his feet, running toward her. She reached out to him, but, when he tried to grab her hand, she disappeared, leaving him clutching at empty air._

_Suddenly, he felt cold. He looked around, only to find that everything had gone dark, and the sunny, green field had disappeared. He couldn't tell where he was, but it was cold and so dark that, when he put his hand in front of his face, he couldn't see it._

_"Aya! Aya! Where are you? Aya, come back!" he called, desperately trying to see through the darkness to find some sign of her presence. But, she was gone. She had left him. He felt so alone, and he sagged to the ground, sobbing and wrapping his arms around his body. "Please," he sobbed, "please, please come back Aya Mom Dad. I I don't want I don't want to be alone."_

Over his sobbing, he could hear another familiar voice calling to him: "Aya! Open your eyes and look at me!"

****


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Yohji frowned and shook the redhead again, a little harder than before. Aya was soaking wet and shivering, both from the cold and from a fever. Yohji could feel the heat radiating off of his body, almost like it was coming off of him in waves. It reminded him of the way the air shimmers over a concrete sidewalk in the hottest part of the summer. He frowned again and brushed away the wet hair that was plastered to Aya's face. He couldn't get the redhead to wake up or respond, and Aya kept muttering. Most of it was fairly incoherent, but it sounded like he was calling out to someone. Yohji managed to catch a few words: _"Aya"_, _"Mom"_, and _"Dad"_. Then, the redhead started to shake and sob, and muttered something that sounded like: _"I don't want to be alone." _

"Shit," Yohji muttered under his breath.

He leaned back on his heels and watched Aya worriedly. This was Aya, for crying out loud --- stone-cold, deadly, always-in-control Aya. He hadn't ever seen the redhead like this, and the fact that Aya was shaking and crying almost uncontrollably was really starting to frighten him. When Aya had agreed to this mission, he hadn't realized the swordsman was this sick. It was a good bet that Omi hadn't, either. Aya was almost obsessively private, preferring to keep a good, safe distance between himself and those around him. The redhead hated for others to worry about him and fuss over him. To Yohji, it always seemed as if the swordsman only wanted to blend in with the woodwork and pass through life with no connections to anyone or anything, unnoticed by the world around him. As a result, Aya was really good at hiding things. In fact, it took an effort approaching the Spanish Inquisition to worm any information out of the Weiss leader. But, appearances didn't lie, and the shaking, sobbing, un-Aya-like mess of a man in front of him told him that the redhead was, in fact, extremely sick. He desperately wanted to check his companion for additional injuries, but it was too dark in the alley, and the rain was coming down too hard.

"Shit!" he repeated. "You're burning up. Come on, Aya. Come on! Open your eyes and look at me!"

Finally, he was rewarded with a small groan, as the redhead tried to open his eyes. After a brief struggle, it seemed like Aya had given up, and he sank back against Yohji. The blonde shook him again, and urged, "Come on. Just try again. Please, Aya! Please. You're scaring me."

Aya groaned again, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. Yohji sighed in relief and smiled down at his friend. "Hey," he said softly, "welcome back."

For a moment, Aya stared up blankly, as if he didn't recognize Yohji, and the blonde started to panic.

After what seemed like an eternity, the redhead muttered hoarsely, "Yo Yohji? Wh what what are you doing here?" He swallowed painfully and started to push against Yohji, who was holding him, in a struggle to sit up.

"Shhh. Just be still, OK?" Yohji snapped. When Aya stopped struggling, he continued, "I I came here to find you." He watched the swordsman quietly for a moment before saying, "Look, I need to get you out of this rain. You wait here, OK? I'm going to go see if we can make it back to the cars."

When Aya nodded weakly, Yohji gently leaned the redhead against the door behind him. He retrieved Aya's long coat, which the homeless man had dropped earlier, and pulled it over his shaking teammate. Like every other piece of clothing they had on, it was soaking wet, but he thought it could at least provide a small measure of warmth. Once he had settled Aya as comfortably as he could, he jogged down the alley toward the street.

It didn't take Yohji long to decide that they wouldn't be able to make it back to the cars, at least, not right now. He hadn't even reached the street when a floodlight lit up the alley, forcing him to duck behind a row of garbage cans. He barely managed to avoid being discovered. Just as he was about to emerge from his hiding place, another police car drove slowly by, shining yet another floodlight into the dark alley. The tall blonde shook his head irritably. There was no way they'd be able to make it to the cars without being spotted. It looked like he was going to have to carry Aya, and, considering the number of cops out and about in this area, that would draw too much attention. Yohji decided that they would just have to wait things out for a little while. He balanced on his heels in the dark shadows behind the garbage cans, considering what their next move should be, and finally decided that he would have to break into one of the buildings off of this alley. He had to get Aya out of the rain, and this seemed like the most viable option available to him. At the very least, it would provide them with shelter until morning. Maybe the police would have given up by then. He waited for a third police car to cruise by, and then left his hiding place to return to Aya.

He jogged back down the alley and skidded to a stop, falling to his knees next to the redhead. Aya was sitting exactly as he had left him, leaning back against the doorway, eyes closed. For a moment, Yohji panicked, thinking that Aya had passed out again, but he opened his eyes when Yohji touched him on the shoulder.

"Well," Yohji said, leaning back slightly to survey the alley around them, "there's no way we're getting to the cars. This whole damn place is crawling with cops."

He reached over and gently brushed the wet hair off of Aya's face, frowning when the younger man didn't even protest. Suddenly, Yohji chuckled slightly, earning a sharp glance from his companion.

In response to the unasked question in Aya's eyes, he replied, "Sorry. It's just you look like shit warmed over, you know?" When Aya glared at him again and then shrugged in response, a gesture that was so familiar and so "Aya-like", Yohji actually felt a little relieved. The redhead was definitely sick, but he wasn't completely gone. He could still see the Aya he knew peeking out from the dazed, dull eyes.

"So," the blonde said, looking at the door behind them. "We need to get in out of the rain. You know what's inside here?"

Aya shook his head in response.

"Well," Yohji said. He pulled a small, black, leather case out of his inner coat pocket and selected one of the lock picks contained within it. He pushed Aya slightly out of the way so that he could get a closer look at the door, and gently began to work the pick into the lock. Within seconds, he was rewarded with the sound of a soft click.

He smiled down at Aya, and said, "Guess this place is as good as any for getting in out of the rain, right?"

He placed his arm around the redhead's waist and gently lifted him up, onto his feet, while, at the same time, pushing the door open with his free arm. "Come on. Let's get in out of the rain so I can call Omi. Last time I talked to him, he was pretty worried. It sounded like he was gonna have kittens. You know how he is."

His small joke was rewarded with a soft, strangled chuckle from Aya, which lifted Yohji's spirits briefly, until it dissolved into a rough, hacking cough that shook the redhead's body and almost sent him down to his knees.

"Careful," Yohji said, tightening his grip on his companion. "Just lean on me, OK? For such a skinny guy, you're damn heavy," Yohji grunted as he hauled Aya through the partially open door. When the redhead didn't respond, Yohji shook him roughly and asked, "Hey! You still with me?"

"Yeah," Aya replied. His voice was hollow, as if he was beyond exhaustion, and Yohji frowned at the sound of it.

"OK. Just checking," he said quietly.

Yohji sighed in satisfaction once they finally managed to get into the room; it was a huge relief to be out of the pounding rain and howling wind. He propped Aya up against the nearest wall, keeping one hand against the redhead's chest to prevent him from sliding down to the floor. With his free hand, he fished his lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on. Although the flame was pitifully small and barely penetrated the room's darkness, Yohji felt almost stupidly happy when it burst to life. He lifted the lighter slightly away from them and a little above his head in an effort to maximize its reach, and finally succeeded in finding a light switch. Without removing his hand from Aya, Yohji leaned forward and just managed to brush the switch with his fingertips, flooding the room with harsh, white light.

They were in a large, commercial kitchen. Yohji whistled softly at what looked like miles and miles of gleaming, stainless steel counters and spotless white linoleum floors, but a soft groan brought his attention away from their surroundings and back to his teammate. When he got his first good look at Aya, Yohji fought the urge to turn the lights off again. He knew it was irrational, but the redhead looked like walking death.

Aya was leaning weakly against the wall, still propped up by Yohji's hand against his chest. If it hadn't been for that support, the blonde knew that Aya wouldn't be able to stay on his feet. Even with Yohji's help, he swayed slightly back and forth, his head and shoulders slumped forward, and his eyes closed. In the harsh light, the older man could finally see what the darkness in the alley had hidden --- dark, red stains on the shoulder and side of the canvas jacket Aya wore.

"Shit, Aya! What the hell happened?" Yohji snapped, lowering his companion gently to the floor.

He positioned the redhead so that his back was leaning against the wall near the door and quickly jerked the jacket open to reveal two wounds --- one on Aya's shoulder and one in his side. They were still bleeding, and, from the looks of stains on the jacket, the swordsman had already lost a lot of blood. He cupped Aya's chin in his palm and tilted his head toward the light so that he could get a better look at his eyes. Yohji frowned at what he saw there. Aya's eyes were glazed over and dull, and it looked like he was barely able to keep them open. He blinked into the light, and Yohji could see him struggling to focus his vision.

"All right," the blonde said quietly, brushing Aya's bangs out of his eyes. "You stay here, OK? I'm going to find something to use for bandages and take a quick look around. We've gotta get that bleeding stopped." He paused and took another close look at his companion's eyes. "I'll be right back," he said softly, laying his hand gently on top of Aya's head. When the redhead looked at him, he smiled and said, "You stay awake, OK?" He paused, waiting for some response from his friend. When Aya finally nodded, Yohji stood up and left the kitchen to look over the rest of the restaurant.

The tall blonde made his way quickly to the front of the building. He was hoping that they'd get lucky and this was the kind of place that used cloth table linens. It didn't take more than a few moments for Yohji to cross the distance from the kitchen, across the small dining room, to the front door. There were blinds drawn across the large windows facing the street, and he pulled one of them aside to peer out of the window. Another police car cruised by slowly, forcing him to duck back inside before he was spotted, but, as soon as it had passed by, he again pulled the blind aside. A white rectangle caught his eye, and he pulled it out of the window. He didn't want to turn on the lights in the front of the restaurant, for fear of alerting the police to their presence, so he held it up to catch the dim illumination coming from the street lights. It was a sign, which read: _"Closed for vacation. Will return in two weeks."_ It had yesterday's date on it.

'So,' Yohji thought as he returned the sign to its previous resting place, 'looks like we won't have any company for a while. Maybe we're finally starting to get lucky.'

He looked around at the room. The restaurant was small, but it was definitely the kind of place that used cloth linens. There was a bar at the back of the dining room, and, even in the dim light coming from the kitchen and sneaking through the closed blinds on the front window, its brass fixtures and granite top gleamed. There were crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and rich-toned murals decorated every wall of the small room. Yohji couldn't be certain in the dim light, but the paintings looked like depictions of Paris street scenes. The chairs, the kind of straight-backed, plain, black lacquered chairs he had seen at several trendy bistros in town, were neatly stacked on top of the tables. But, best of all, each table was covered with a starched, pristinely-clean, white cloth. Yohji crossed the floor to follow a small hallway that seemed to lead to a storage room, which was where he thought he might find some extra table linens. He didn't want to disturb anything in the dining room. He didn't know how long it might take for the police to give up their search for Aya, so they might have to hide out here for a while. Just in case someone happened to see in through the window or door, he didn't want it to look like anyone had been there.

Within a few moments, Yohji had managed to pick the lock on the storeroom door. He entered the small room and pulled the door shut behind him, clicking on the overhead light at the same time. There were crates, which he guessed contained bottles of wine, stacked along two walls of the room. A third wall contained a large wine rack, which appeared to be where the restaurant stored its pricier vintages. There were sacks of potatoes, rice, and various spices stacked neatly on top of the wine crates. On either side of the door, there were shelves containing stacks and stacks of the same white linens that were on the tables outside, and, as an unexpected bonus, he spied two blankets tucked away under a pile of tablecloths.

"Jackpot," Yohji mumbled under his breath. As he fumbled through the linens, the tall blonde fished his cell phone out of his pocket and, with one hand, punched in the number for the flower shop.

"Yohji?" Omi's frightened, breathless voice came over the phone after the second ring.

"Yeah," Yohji replied.

"You find him?" Omi asked.

"Yeah," Yohji replied, again.

There was an uncomfortably long pause before Omi snapped, "So? Is he is he all right?"

Yohji pulled out several of the largest table cloths, along with both the blankets, and then responded, "Um, well"

"Well, what?" Omi snapped, interrupting. "Is he or isn't he?"

"Not really," Yohji replied slowly. He winced when he heard Omi take in a sharp breath. When the boy didn't say anything more, he continued, "He's pretty sick, and "

"And?" Omi prompted.

"I think it looks like he's been shot."

"Bad?" Omi asked. His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, indicating that he was terrified of Yohji's answer.

"I I don't know," Yohji responded. "Look, I I need to get back to him. I found a place to get in out of the rain. We're in a restaurant, and it's closed for a while, so we'll be OK here. There are cops all over the place down here. I think they're still looking for him. He can't walk back to the cars, and I can't get him out of here tonight not with all the police activity."

"So, what're you going to do?" Omi asked. "I I can come down to get you."

"No," Yohji replied. He shook his head, even though logic told him that Omi couldn't see the gesture. "Stay put, kiddo. We're gonna ride it out here tonight. If we're lucky, the cops'll give up and I can get him out tomorrow night."

"But," Omi protested, "if he's sick and hurt he he needs a doctor."

"I know," Yohji answered. "But, this is the best we can do for now. Aya was hiding in an alley, disguised as a homeless guy hiding out in plain view." He chuckled softly. "I'll bet those cops looked right at him and never guessed. You have to admit that little shit has some balls. If he had thought he could get away clean, he would have gone back to the cars or called on the comm. It's working. I checked. It was a minor miracle that I managed to avoid the police. If you come down here, or I try to carry him out now, it'll bring all hell down on our heads." He paused for a moment, thinking. "No," he announced, "this way this is for the best."

Omi sighed. Yohji could tell that the boy didn't like this decision, but Omi announced his feelings, anyhow. "I don't like this," he stated flatly.

Yohji turned around and leaned back against the shelves of linens. He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair, scattering tiny droplets of water around him. "Yeah, I know, kiddo. I I don't like it, either." He paused, and then said, softly, "It's this is all my fault. If I'd gone there to meet him like I was supposed to " He sighed again, and said, "I'm I'm sorry, Omi."

The boy paused for a long moment before responding in a hard voice, "If you're looking for absolution, Yohji, you're not gonna get it from me. Just take care of him." Omi severed the connection before Yohji could reply.

The tall blonde looked down at the silent phone he held in his hand, and muttered, "I will. I promise."

He didn't know why he hadn't gone to the meeting place for the mission, and he looked up at the single, overhead light bulb, as if it could tell him why he always did the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time. If he had known things would turn out this way, he wouldn't have ever allowed himself to wander to that bar. What good was moping over Asuka going to do for anyone, anyhow? She was dead; nothing he could do, say, or think would ever change that fact. And, now, because of his selfishness, Aya was sick and hurt. It was obvious that the swordsman shouldn't have even been on this mission, in the first place. If any of them had had any sense, or had been paying any attention to him, they would have forced him to turn it down, no matter how angry it might have made him. Now, he understood why Omi had been so insistent about someone accompanying their leader.

"Why didn't I listen to him? Why don't I ever listen?" Yohji muttered. He pulled his sunglasses off of his face and wiped his hand over his eyes in an attempt to relieve the exhaustion he felt before quickly gathering up several of the white cloths and retracing his steps back to the kitchen, where he had left Aya.

****


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Yohji paused in the doorway to the kitchen and quietly watched Aya. The swordsman was still sitting on the floor where the blonde had left him, slumped bonelessly against the wall near the door leading to the alley. Aya was so still; if it hadn't been for the sound of his rattling, wheezing breathing, Yohji would have thought he was dead. The tall blonde took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, as if to prepare himself for what he was going to find when he finally took a close look at his teammate's injuries. After a few moments, he crossed the kitchen, stopping momentarily to wet a few of the tablecloths and retrieve some soap at the sink, and knelt next to the redhead. Aya's eyes were closed, his head slumped forward, and, although it sounded as if he was having some difficulty breathing, his breaths were at least coming at a steady pace. He was trembling, and he didn't look up or move when Yohji approached and knelt next to him.

"Hey," he called softly, gently shaking the sleeping redhead. He frowned when he didn't get any response, and shook Aya harder, calling again, "Hey, Aya! Aya! Wake up!" He could hear the note of panic creeping into his voice, and he struggled to remain calm. The last thing Aya needed right now was for his rescuer to freak out.

Aya seemed to respond to the urgency and fear that was in Yohji's voice. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. When he finally managed to look toward Yohji, the tall blonde could see the complete confusion in the swordsman's dazed eyes. Aya blinked and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on Yohji's face.

"Yo Yohji?" he asked. His voice was weak, barely a whisper, and he sounded confused and lost. "What what are you doing here?" He slowly looked around at his surroundings, and it was obvious that he couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there. Finally, he looked back to the older man and asked, "Where ?"

"It's OK," Yohji replied softly, cutting Aya off in mid-question.

He struggled to keep his voice calm, quiet, and gentle. He could tell that Aya was having trouble just remaining conscious, and he could see fear starting to creep into the redhead's eyes. He had to do whatever was necessary to keep the swordsman calm.

"It's OK," he repeated. He laid his hand against Aya's face, frowning at the heat he felt there. He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile in response to the confusion and fear he saw in the blue-violet eyes, and said, in a soft voice, "I'm here, so it's all going to be OK now, all right?" He watched Aya closely for some response, and, after a moment, he repeated, "All right?"

Aya nodded.

"OK," Yohji said. He saw the fear dissipate slightly from Aya's eyes, and felt a little relieved. Without moving to touch Aya again, he spoke in the kind of soft, slow voice he would use to calm a frightened animal or small child. "Look, I know you don't like for anyone to touch you. But, you're hurt and sick. I have to look at those wounds, and get you dry and warm. OK?"

It was only a few moments, but it seemed to take an eternity for Aya to slowly, almost imperceptibly, nod his head.

Yohji took the motion as a sign of permission. He inched closer to Aya, moving very slowly to avoid frightening the redhead. The younger man was trembling uncontrollably. Yohji didn't have any idea how badly his companion was hurt, and he was afraid of making the wounds any worse than they already were. He grabbed the lapels of the dirty, canvas jacket and gently pulled the coat off of Aya's shoulders. He had to pull the swordsman forward slightly to remove the jacket, and Aya winced, earning a mumbled "Sorry" from Yohji, as the wound on his shoulder reopened. Finally, the jacket slid freely to the floor, affording the blonde a closer view of his companion's shoulder injury.

He prodded gently at the raw flesh, which caused Aya to involuntarily jump backward in an attempt to escape. As he scooted away, he hit his head on the door frame, making a hollow thumping sound. Yohji winced and jumped forward to stop Aya's retreat. He grabbed the front of the younger man's shirt and placed his hand behind the swordsman's neck.

"Stop!" he hissed through clenched teeth. He gripped Aya's neck roughly as he spoke, which caused the younger man to yelp in pain. "Sorry," he said softly, releasing his death grip. "I I didn't mean to hurt you. You have to try to stay still, OK? If you move around, it's just going to make things worse."

"S sorry," Aya mumbled. His voice was shaking, and Yohji had to lean forward to hear him.

The blonde smiled. "It's OK." He leaned forward, to look into the younger man's eyes, and continued, "This is gonna hurt. I can't help it, but I need to see how bad these gun shot wounds are, OK?"

Aya nodded and looked away. He strained to focus his glazed eyes on the floor to his side.

Yohji slowly and carefully slid his hands under Aya's torn shirt. He placed one of them against the front of the wound and one of them against Aya's back, as he searched for the bullet's entry and exit points. He never took his eyes off of the injured swordsman. Aya sucked his breath in sharply at the painful contact. Yohji frowned as he saw the remaining color drain from the redhead's face, and the pain lines around his mouth deepen.

"I'm I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice cracking.

"It's OK," Aya wheezed. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"This isn't so bad," Yohji said gently. "There's an entry and an exit, so no bullet inside. You've lost a lot of blood, though." He reached into his boot and removed his knife. He flicked the blade out with one smooth, practiced movement of his wrist. It made a clicking noise that seemed deafeningly loud in the silent room.

He thought Aya was past the point where he was aware of what was happening, but the redhead must have seen the knife out of the corner of his eye. He stared down at the jagged blade with fear-filled eyes, and, instinctively, almost involuntarily, started to struggle weakly against Yohji's grip, as if he didn't remember who was holding him. He pushed at the blonde's hands and tried to scoot away from the knife, holding his shaking hands out in front of him in a defensive gesture, but he only succeeded in repeatedly ramming his body roughly against the wall behind him.

Yohji was shocked and scared by Aya's reaction. This was Aya, for crying out loud. Aya never got scared; Aya laughed at death. He couldn't remember ever seeing the swordsman show actual fear. But, now, he could see terror shining out from the wide, violet-blue eyes, and the way Aya kept trying to back away told Yohji that the younger man was frightened out of his wits. The older assassin immediately released his grip on the swordsman and dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor as the blonde leaned back slightly and watched Aya. He had to fight the urge to grab the redhead to stop his violent, painful struggling.

After a few minutes, the swordsman stopped fighting. He curled up into a little ball, shaking uncontrollably and mumbling, "No, please. Please don't don't hurt me."

Yohji frowned and, after it seemed that his companion had calmed down, he gently pulled Aya toward him. Aya didn't try to struggle away this time. He allowed the blonde to pull him forward until he was leaning against Yohji's chest. The older man stroked his hair, and muttered soft, meaningless words that seemed to calm the swordsman down.

Without releasing his hold on Aya, Yohji leaned down and retrieved the knife. When Aya stiffened again at the sight of it, the blonde said, softly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Aya. It's OK. I have to cut your shirt off so that I can clean and bandage your shoulder and look at the wound in your side. You have to trust me, OK?"

When Aya didn't relax, Yohji tightened his grip on the redhead, and mumbled, "Do you understand? Trust me?"

He felt Aya nod against his chest, and slowly ran the knife under the redhead's already-ripped shirt. He was careful to keep the cold metal from touching the swordsman's skin. The material parted like butter under the razor-sharp blade, and Yohji gently peeled the wet material away from Aya's body. The redhead shivered violently as the cool air hit his wet skin, and Yohji pulled him a little closer. He was wet, too, but he hoped that he could at least share a little body heat with his injured companion.

Once the shirt was gone, it was easy for Yohji to see the injury on Aya's side. He sighed in relief when he saw that it was really just a flesh wound --- a long, shallow gash along the younger man's rib cage.

"That's not too bad, either," he muttered soothingly as he prodded at the wound. Aya continued to tremble, but he didn't try to move away from the pain caused by Yohji's examination. "It's not very deep, and it's not bleeding very much, either," he said, after poking at the injury for a moment. "You might need stitches, eventually, but, you should be OK for tonight, at least."

Yohji carefully shifted Aya around so that the swordsman's back was to his chest. With his hands now freed of the necessity of supporting Aya's body, the blonde assassin reached around to find the soap and wet tablecloths he had laid beside him upon initially sitting down. Aya's attempt to escape from his knife had forced both of them to move away from the spot where Yohji had left his supplies, and he grunted as he willed his arm to stretch to its greatest length so that he could grab the things he needed without having to get up and disturb Aya, who had just calmed down. He grunted again, this time in satisfaction, when his fingers finally brushed against and then clamped onto the soap. Another brief struggle yielded one of the wet tablecloths. Yohji ripped the wet cloth in half and liberally doused one of the pieces with soap.

"I wish I had something better to clean this with, but I guess soap will have to do. This is going to hurt a little," he said as he began to gently clean the dirt and dried blood off of the shoulder wound.

Aya hadn't said anything or made any sort of noise in such a long time that Yohji thought he had fallen asleep or fainted. But, when the older man started to rub at the wound, Aya stiffened and involuntarily tried to pull away from Yohji's ministrations. The blonde assassin held him firmly in place and resolutely continued to clean the wound.

"That hurts a **lot**," Aya muttered weakly. Although his voice still sounded exhausted, his tone clearly implied that Yohji's white lie regarding the soap was tantamount to a treasonous offense.

"Sorry," Yohji replied.

He couldn't help but smile at the tone of voice, which, although weak, was so cold and disapproving that it left no room for doubt that the Aya he knew was still there with him. He finished cleaning the shoulder wound and quickly turned his attention to the shallow gash in Aya's side. The swordsman flinched as Yohji poked and prodded at the wound, trying to remove all of the dirt and dried blood around it, but he didn't try to move away. Once Aya stopped trying to escape, it only took a few minutes for Yohji to finish cleaning the second wound. He ripped a few of the dry tablecloths into strips and began bandaging the injuries. He had had a lot of experience cleaning and bandaging various wounds over the years; they all had. And, his hands almost seemed to move of their own accord, without need of any commands from his brain, in expert motions perfected through years of hard-earned practice. Before long, he leaned back and surveyed his work in satisfaction.

"There," he said, smoothing out the last cloth strip. "Bleeding's stopped, and, hopefully, they won't get infected."

He paused, waiting for Aya to respond. When the redhead said nothing, Yohji leaned around to see if he was still awake. Aya's eyes were still open, but he appeared to be zoning out, staring at the floor some distance in front of him. Yohji tried to shrug off the uncomfortable feeling of worry that came over him when he saw the glazed-over, unfocused stare.

"Well," the blonde continued, reaching again for the soap and another piece of wet cloth, "Let's see if we can't get you cleaned up."

He gently soaped down Aya's hands, arms, and face, and then used another piece of wet cloth to wipe away the soap. He had to admit that he was relieved when the dirt and muck easily came off of to allow Aya's light, porcelain-like skin to show through.

Aya was almost obsessive about cleanliness; he hated being dirty, and he was always cleaning and straightening up the common areas they all shared in the apartment above the flower shop. Yohji always needled him about being such a neat freak, mainly because he gained a perverse pleasure from seeing their normally calm and in-control leader become flustered and embarrassed. Yohji had never styled himself as a psychiatrist or anything like that, but, inside, the blonde believed that being overly clean was one of the ways in which Aya sought to assert control over a life that, too often, seemed to spin completely out of control. The same was true of Aya's attempts to distance himself, emotionally, from everyone around him. Yohji had long ago decided that Aya's anti-social behavior was a protection mechanism, and this realization had allowed the blonde assassin to become well-equipped in dealing with the Weiss leader's mercurial moods and temper tantrums.

"All right," he said softly as he finished drying Aya off, "All clean now. Better?" He felt Aya nod against his chest and then continued, "How'd you get so damn dirty, anyhow? I never thought I'd see a neat freak like you looking so filthy and wearing dirty clothes stolen from a bum, to boot."

Aya let out a short laugh in response to Yohji's teasing, which caused the blonde to smile, in spite of the fact that the laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit that traveled in rough shudders through his body.

"Alarm our intel. didn't pick it up, and I tripped it. I couldn't make the car," Aya said in a whisper, once he regained his breath after the coughing fit. "Cops were everywhere, and I had to hide." He shrugged slightly, "Seemed like a good idea even with all the dirt and wearing someone else's clothes."

"Guess it was," Yohji assured him. "They didn't find you." He paused for a moment, thinking, and finally asked, "Did you really steal that guy's coat?"

Aya didn't respond. He was struggling to remember exactly what had happened in the alley earlier that night. His mind told him it hadn't been very long ago, but all of his memories of that evening seemed to jumble together in a foggy, hazy mess. He struggled to make sense of them, and finally, answered, "I I don't remember everything. But, yeah I think I did."

He stiffened slightly as a thought occurred to him. Yohji had said "that guy", as if he knew the homeless man who had previously owned the now-ruined, olive-colored canvas jacket he had been wearing when the older man found him. "You talked to him?"

Yohji laughed shortly and replied, "Well, "talked" isn't really the word for it. I got there in time to see him trying to brain you with a liquor bottle. I threatened to cut his throat for it. There wasn't too much actual "talking" involved, really. Just a lot of yammering on his part, which is how I found out about the coat."

It seemed to Yohji that Aya started shaking even more, if that was possible, as he asked, "You you didn't hurt him, did you?"

Yohji pushed Aya away slightly, so that there was a small space between them, which gave him enough room to struggle out of his coat and t-shirt. He allowed the coat to remain crumpled on the floor behind him, and he pulled the t-shirt, which was now dry and warm, thanks to the combination of their stay in the building and his own body heat, over Aya's torso. He helped the redhead pull his arms through the shirt's sleeves to make sure that the younger man's wounds didn't start bleeding. With that accomplished, he pulled the two blankets around his shivering friend. Then, he pulled Aya back toward him, resting the swordsman's back against his own chest.

"I didn't hurt him," Yohji finally replied. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at Aya's almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "To kill someone like that --- a little man who has nothing to do with any mission You really think I'm that bad?" he asked, his voice involuntarily taking on a hurt tone.

Aya pulled uncomfortably at the hem of Yohji's t-shirt, which only reached halfway down his torso, and frowned slightly. "Don't you own any normal shirts?" he asked. When Yohji didn't respond, Aya shook his head and continued, "No." He leaned his head back against Yohji's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I don't think that. But, sometimes, you get a little crazy," he said slowly, hesitantly, as if he was searching for just the right words.

Yohji shrugged. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. He considered his teammates to be family. They were his, and it was true that he became blinded by rage whenever someone tried to damage anything that was his. It was especially true when Aya was at stake, thanks to Yohji's over-protective, big-brotherly tendencies toward the younger man. Finally, he said, in a quiet voice, "I didn't hurt him. I gave him some money so he could get a hotel room and get out of the rain."

Aya sighed again and replied, "Thanks, Yohji."

"What do you care, anyhow?" Yohji asked. "I mean, that guy you don't know him. He's nothing to you nothing to anyone. So, what does it matter?"

Aya shrugged and paused for a long few moments before softly responding, "He's like me. Nothing to anyone with no place to go no place to belong no place to hide. A "Nowhere Man" you know like in that song."

Yohji was shocked at Aya's revelation. He felt like the swordsman had suddenly and unexpectedly bared his soul, and he didn't know how to respond. Could it be true that, even after all this time, Aya really believed he didn't matter to any of them, that his life meant nothing to them or to anyone else? After a few moments, he leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Aya that's that's not true. You belong with us."

The redhead didn't respond, and Yohji leaned around to look into his face, only to discover that Aya had fallen asleep. His arms tightened protectively around his sleeping friend, and he repeated, "You belong with us."

****


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

_Aya opened his eyes to find he was lying on his back in an open field. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he knew he must have been napping there, since he had that fuzzy, slightly confused feeling he always had when he woke up in a strange place. The sun was warming his body, and it had been a long time since he had felt so warm and comfortable. The sky was a bright blue --- the kind of blue that was so pure it made your eyes water if you looked at it for too long. He could feel the tall, soft grass, which seemed to tower above him, caressing his bare arms._

_"Ran! Ran! Get up, and come play!"_

_He jerked into a sitting position at the sound of the familiar voice. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time, and that he had believed was forever lost to him. He looked around desperately, and smiled when he finally saw his little sister. She was sitting a few feet away from him, in the middle of a small patch of bright yellow flowers, and she was weaving them into a long chain. She smiled at him, and he felt his heart jump in his chest. It seemed like it had been so long since he had seen that smile. He laughed and jumped to his feet, running toward her. She reached toward him, but, when he tried to grab her hand, she disappeared, leaving him clutching at empty air._

_Suddenly, he felt cold. He looked around, only to find that everything had gone dark, and the sunny, green field had disappeared. He couldn't tell where he was, but it was cold and so dark that, when he put his hand in front of his face, he couldn't see it._

_"Aya! Aya! Where are you? Aya, come back!" he called, desperately trying to see through the darkness to find some sign of her presence. But, she was gone. She had left him. He felt so alone, and he sagged to the ground, sobbing and wrapping his arms around his body. "Please," he sobbed, "please, please come back Aya Mom Dad. I I don't want I don't want to be alone."_

****


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Yohji sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Through the small skylight directly above them, he had watched the sun rise and then set again. At least the rain had stopped. A small moan and movement drew his attention away from the skylight and back to the figure he held in his arms.

It had been a long night and day. Aya's fever seemed to steadily worsen, and his breathing had become progressively more difficult. Yohji could hear him wheezing, and, when he took a fairly deep breath, there was a tell-tale rattle deep within his lungs, indicating that his cold, which none of them had thought was very serious, had probably worked its way into a lovely case of pneumonia. Obviously, Aya had been a lot sicker than he had let on to any of them, and Yohji frowned as he looked down at his sleeping companion. It irritated him that the redhead gave no more thought than that to his own safety, but the tall blonde contented himself with the idea that, once Aya was back on his feet, he'd just beat the crap out of him for making him worry like this, and for dragging him out into last night's rain.

Aya groaned and pushed against the warm embrace holding him. He muttered something, but Yohji couldn't understand it. The redhead had been haunted by feverish nightmares. He had tossed and turned, struggling against unseen demons, almost continuously, and had only settled into a relatively calm sleep about an hour ago. Yohji had slept, off and on, sitting up and leaning against the kitchen wall, holding Aya against him for warmth. He hadn't had an easy time hanging onto the injured man, and his body ached from the bruises Aya had inflicted on him. He rubbed at a particularly painful bruise under his eye, the result of a sudden elbow jab as Aya had struggled to escape, and thought that it would have been a lot easier to just let the redhead go. But, Aya had needed the warmth of his body heat, and Yohji had been able to hear him calling to his family and begging them not to leave him, which made him understand that the redhead also needed to know he wasn't alone. Aya shifted and moaned again, and Yohji looked down to see two tired violet-blue eyes blinking up at him.

"Hey. Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," he said. He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. When Aya shifted again, Yohji asked, "You want to try sitting up?"

Aya nodded and Yohji pushed the red-head away, so that he was sitting up by himself. At first, the swordsman listed crazily to one side, as if he was going to fall over, and Yohji gently steadied him. After a few minutes, he seemed to have regained his balance, and he brushed Yohji's hands away.

Aya sighed heavily, which led to another wheezing, coughing fit that shook his body roughly. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned forward, until his head was almost touching the floor. Yohji watched, uncomfortably aware that he couldn't do anything to help.

When the coughing fit finally subsided, Aya asked, "Water can I have some?" His voice was hoarse, and it cracked as it hit the high point of his question.

"Sure," Yohji replied.

He scooted out from behind the redhead and stumbled toward the sink, struggling to regain the feeling in his legs. Within seconds, he was back at Aya's side with a cup of water. He helped steady the cup to prevent the redhead's shaking hands from spilling the liquid contained within it. After a few sips, Aya allowed Yohji to pull the cup away.

"So, how you feeling?" Yohji asked.

He sat back on his heels and watched the injured man closely. Aya didn't respond right away. He just stared at Yohji, although the unfocused look in his eyes made the blonde feel like Aya was staring through him at the wall behind, instead of at him. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them to an arm's length, and gently brushed the back of his hand against Aya's cheek.

Aya impatiently swatted at the older man's hand, which made Yohji smile. At least the redhead seemed to be clinging tenaciously to his normal, grumpy personality, which told the blonde that he hadn't gone over the edge quite yet. Once he managed to focus his eyes, Aya stared at Yohji for a few minutes. Finally, he asked, "Wh what happened to your eye?" He reached up to touch his own eye, as if to visually explain his question.

"Huh?" Yohji asked. He touched his face, in imitation of Aya's gesture, and winced as his fingers came into contact with the painful bruise under his eye. "Oh, that uh, you kinda had a rough night." In response to the raised eyebrow and questioning look he got from his companion, he elaborated, "elbow."

"Sorry," Aya muttered. He looked away, as if he was too embarrassed to look at Yohji.

"It's all right," Yohji reassured him. "It was an accident." He cupped his hand under Aya's chin and pulled the younger man's head around, forcing Aya to meet his gaze. "It was an accident," he repeated. When Aya nodded slightly, he asked, "So, you want to try getting back to the cars? You feel up to it?"

Aya dropped his gaze back down to the floor and muttered, "I I don't think I can. You go."

Yohji shook his head. "Sorry. That's not an option." He stood and offered Aya his hand as he said, "Either we go together or we don't go at all. If you can't make it, I'll call Omi and have him come down to get one of the cars and pick us up."

Aya stared at Yohji for a moment. He had a shocked look in his eyes, as if the blonde's sudden mutiny surprised him. Finally, he shrugged and said, "No. It's bad enough you had to come after me. I don't want to get Omi involved, too." He took Yohji's hand and allowed the older man to pull him to his feet.

Yohji frowned as he helped Aya stand. The redhead's words caused a fresh wave of guilt to wash over him. Either Aya had forgotten the mission details, probably thanks in large part to his fever and the injuries he had suffered, or he wasn't holding any grudges regarding the older man's unexpected absence. But Yohji couldn't forget that he was supposed to be with Aya all along, and, if it hadn't been for his little detour at the bar the night before, they probably wouldn't be here right now. He knew he would be reminding himself of that fact until their leader was back on his feet again.

Yohji steadied Aya when he came close to falling. Once it seemed that the swordsman had sufficiently gained his balance, Yohji retrieved his coat, which was now dry, and handed it to the redhead.

Aya stared at the coat without taking it. He glanced at Yohji and then quickly turned away to stare at the floor, muttering, "I have a coat of my own. I don't need yours."

Yohji sighed and silently counted to ten before he spoke, so that he wouldn't say something he would regret. Aya always made it so hard for anyone to help him or even like him, and, normally, his statement would have resulted in a temper tantrum and the withdrawal of any offered assistance on Yohji's part. But, this time, he just couldn't bring himself to be angry with the redhead. The words had been angry, but the tone of voice had only been tired, and Aya looked embarrassed at needing someone else's help. He couldn't even meet Yohji's gaze. The blonde couldn't forget the nightmares that had haunted his friend while he was asleep, and he could still hear the flat, matter-of-fact tone of Aya's voice when the redhead had told him that he didn't belong anywhere or matter to anyone.

Once he had gained control of his initial anger enough to be confident that he wouldn't say anything he'd regret later, Yohji stepped forward and dropped his coat over Aya's shoulders as he said in an even, firm voice, "Stop being such a shit, Aya. It's cold outside. Your coat's still wet. And, it's got holes in it. You'll wear this one, and I don't want to argue about it."

Aya didn't move. He stared at Yohji, his eyes wide in surprise. But, after a few moments, he quietly began to struggle into the coat, much to Yohji's satisfaction. Aya winced as the wounds in his shoulder and side pulled painfully when he tried to push his arms through the sleeves, prompting Yohji to step forward to assist him. As soon as he had assured himself that Aya was ready to face the cold night air, Yohji pulled on the swordsman's coat, and shivered as the cold, wet lining touched his bare torso and back.

Yohji cautiously pushed open the back door of the restaurant, which would release them back into the alley where he had first found Aya hiding. As the door opened, a gust of wind blew through the alley and caught the door, pushing it back into the room. Yohji jumped backward, taking Aya with him, to avoid being hit by the door, and accidentally slammed the swordsman roughly into the nearby wall. The redhead groaned as his body hit the wall, and Yohji barely caught him before he slid all the way to the floor. He pulled Aya back onto his feet and steadied him by placing his hands on the swordsman's shoulders, frowning as Aya leaned forward dizzily with his head resting against the older man's chest. The redhead's breathing was harsh and strained, as if he couldn't quite catch his breath, and Yohji silently cursed himself for treating his injured friend so roughly.

"Aya! I'm sorry," Yohji said, lifting the younger man's head to look into his eyes. "Are you are you all right?"

Aya nodded, and, when he finally managed to catch his breath, he replied, "It's OK. I'm OK." He smiled at Yohji and weakly pushed himself off of the older man's chest. "It it was an accident," he continued. He gently patted Yohji on the shoulder, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the friendly gesture, and said, "Let's uh, let's get going."

Yohji silently followed Aya out of the kitchen and into the cold wind blowing through the alley. If he didn't know better, he would have thought their stone-cold leader had been trying to comfort him. He stared at Aya's back as the swordsman shivered in the wind and wrapped his arms around himself, as if that would fend off the chill. After pausing for a few moments to pull Yohji's coat a little tighter and to flip the collar up to keep out the wind, Aya slowly began to move down the alley toward the street.

He shook his head and muttered to himself, "Aya being nice. Weird. Too damn weird. He's gotta be really sick, to act like that."

Yohji was still muttering under his breath when he caught up with the redhead. He pulled Aya to a stop and shrugged as the younger man glared at him. "It's cold out in the wind," he said in response to the hostile stare as he zipped up the coat. "All right. Get moving," he growled, gently shoving Aya toward the street. 

********************************************************

They walked in silence. Both of them were too tense and too busy looking for police to feel like talking, and Aya's strained, harsh breathing would have prevented conversation, even if he had felt like it. It was obvious that the police had, basically, given up searching for Aya in this part of town. An occasional patrol car would cruise by, forcing the two assassins to duck into a dark alley to avoid being spotted, but it seemed like it was only this area's normal police presence. It was nothing like the night before, when Yohji had practically had to slink from shadow to shadow just to avoid the police crawling all over the street.

They had cleared a little over half the distance to the cars, and Yohji was starting to feel almost confident about reaching their goal when Aya, who had been trailing slightly behind, suddenly stumbled and fell heavily against him. Yohji was practically running on auto pilot, lost in his thoughts, and he tripped and almost fell when he felt the redhead's weight fall against his back.

"Hey, careful!" he snapped. He twisted around and barely managed to catch Aya in time to prevent the younger man from falling heavily to the wet pavement. He gently lowered his companion to a sitting position on the ground and squatted in front of him.

Any anger he might have felt died when he got a good look at his friend. Aya was shaking, and all of the color had drained from his face. His teeth were chattering together, telling Yohji that he was cold, but sweat stood out on his pale skin. His eyes were dull and unfocused, and it was obvious that he had been moving on will power alone.

"You OK?" he asked worriedly.

Aya nodded and leaned heavily against Yohji, his head resting against the older man's chest. "I'm fine. I just need to rest a little," he panted.

Yohji pushed Aya's bangs aside, ignoring the glare he earned from the younger man, and felt Aya's face. He frowned. "Like hell you're all right," he snapped, wincing internally at the harsh tone of his own voice. "That fever's worse. I don't think you have the strength to go the rest of the way." He glanced around desperately, as if searching for assistance, and sighed in frustration when he found only thin air. He looked back to Aya and sighed again, this time in resignation. "All right," he said, quietly. He grabbed Aya under the arms and began to haul the younger man to his feet.

"Leave me alone," Aya snapped. He struggled against Yohji's grip and pushed the older man away roughly, succeeding in bringing them both back down to the ground. He stared hostilely at Yohji and snapped in a hoarse, icy voice, "I'm fine. I can walk on my own. I I don't need your help."

Yohji barely managed to cushion Aya's fall with his own body. He was tired, wet, and cold, and his irritation with his stubborn teammate was rising by the moment. He leaned back on his heels and silently watched his companion, who had struggled weakly away from him and now sat a few inches away, panting and watching him with an angry, icy stare. Yohji retrieved his sunglasses, which had fallen to the ground during his brief struggle with the swordsman, and cleaned them off before replacing them on his face. He pulled the glasses down slightly and stared at Aya over the rims.

"Why the hell are you so damn stubborn?" he asked. Aya just stared hostilely at him, and Yohji could feel his anger growing. After all, he was only trying to help. It was obvious that Aya didn't have the strength to walk the rest of the way to their cars, and it was also obvious that the swordsman was determined to hold a grudge against his rescuer. "I'll never understand why you're such a little shit!" Yohji hissed angrily, staring up at the sky as if it would offer him the answer to his question.

"I I don't need help. From you or anyone," Aya snapped. His words and the tone of his voice were harsh and clipped, but the exhaustion in his eyes told Yohji that it was all a bluff. The older man could tell that Aya was struggling to remain conscious, and it was taking all of the redhead's strength to maintain his normal harsh tone and icy demeanor.

Yohji sighed in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair as he muttered, "Yeah, right. You don't need any help at all." He stood and turned slightly away from the younger man. "I'm sorry, Aya," he muttered. Before the redhead could respond, Yohji whirled around and landed a solid kick against the side of Aya's head.

He had pulled back at the last instant, to avoid hitting the swordsman with the full force of his kick, but Aya groaned and dropped forward like a sack of lead. Yohji just barely managed to catch him before he landed on the wet concrete, and he wondered, for a moment, if he had kicked the redhead too hard. With a shaking hand, he felt the younger man's throat and sighed in relief when he found a steady pulse. He placed one hand behind Aya's back and the other under his knees and gently lifted him off the ground. It wasn't much farther to the cars, and they were far enough from downtown that Yohji didn't think they had to worry about being spotted by any police patrols. Aya was limp and still in his arms, which made Yohji distinctly uncomfortable, as did the guilt that he felt. He wasn't normally one to feel guilty over his actions, but the past couple of days had caused him to become all too intimate with that particular emotion. He shifted so that the younger man's weight was more comfortable in his arms and rested Aya's head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he carried his burden into the dark, chilly night.

****


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Thanks to a quickly-placed phone call, Omi was waiting at the door for them when Yohji finally pulled his car into the parking area near the flower shop. The boy danced nervously from foot to foot as he held the door open and watched them. He reminded Yohji of a nervous little dog, and the sight of the boy made him chuckle in spite of the anxiety he felt over Aya's condition. He glanced over at the passenger side of the car as he came to a stop. Aya hadn't moved or made a sound since Yohji had knocked him unconscious to carry him to the car, and he hadn't given any signs of awakening any time soon. Yohji could see a large bruise discoloring the side of the redhead's face, marking the spot where his foot had struck the younger man. He gently brushed at the dark spot, as if he could wipe it away, and felt a new wave of guilt washing over him at the sight of it. He looked back toward Omi, who was still prancing nervously in the doorway, and tried to steel himself for the anger and retribution he knew he was going to face from the boy. Finally, he concluded he had stalled for as long as he could, and that he was never really going to be ready for what Omi would be dishing out.

"Well," he sighed, looking over at his unconscious companion, "Guess it's time to face the music, huh?" He stared at Aya for another moment before mumbling, "You know, you could wake up and help me out here." When he received no response, Yohji sighed and muttered "As always you are such a shit."

He got out of the car, moving stiffly, and waved to the boy, who didn't move from his post at the doorway. Shrugging, Yohji moved to the passenger side and pulled Aya out of the car, shifting the redhead's weight so that Aya's head rested against his shoulder. He didn't bother looking up to face Omi, but he heard the door slam and the sound of running feet as the kid finally left the doorway and ran out to meet them.

"Hey!" Omi called as he reached Yohji. He frowned when he saw the still, limp figure in the tall blonde's arms. "What what happened? He OK?" He placed a trembling hand against Aya's face and pulled it back involuntarily when he felt the heat from the redhead's skin. He glared at Yohji and snapped, "He's burning up!"

Yohji shrugged as well as he could, considering he currently had his arms full, and said, "Yeah. Can we get him inside, please? He doesn't look it, but he's damn heavy!" When Omi just stared angrily at him, he sighed and continued, "Look, we can argue when we get inside, OK? It's cold out here."

Omi continued to glare at Yohji for several moments, but he finally turned away to stalk silently to the building. He held the door open and snapped, "Watch his head" as Yohji carried Aya into the flower shop.

Omi managed to hold his tongue until they had settled Aya on his bed. As Yohji removed the redhead's coat and boots, Omi flipped on the bedside lamp, revealing the large bruise on the side of Aya's face. He leaned forward and gently brushed at the discolored skin, as if he thought it was dirt he could wipe away. Aya moaned and involuntarily moved away from Omi's hand at the painful contact.

"What the hell? Is that that looks like a bruise," Omi said. He leaned forward and inspected Aya's face more closely. "It is a bruise," he stated flatly. He gave Yohji a suspicious look and asked again, "What the hell happened?"

Yohji finished removing Aya's boots and glanced around the room. It was fairly bare --- a testament to either the redhead's Spartan habits or his refusal to allow himself to become emotionally attached to things --- Yohji couldn't tell which. The only furnishings were the bed, a bedside table with a lamp and a clock, a desk, and a straight-backed desk chair. Although he did indulge himself with a desktop computer, which Yohji secretly suspected he used only to do mission research, and several dozen books, there weren't any other kinds of "personal touches" in the room --- no family photographs, no photographs of any kind, for that matter, no posters or pictures on the walls, no stereo equipment, no CDs or tapes. If a stranger had somehow managed to wander into the redhead's private sanctuary, they would probably believe this room was vacant. The tall blonde finished his quick survey of Aya's room and pulled the desk chair over so that it was next to the bed. Sighing, he sat down heavily in the chair, removed his sunglasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Doctor?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the figure lying on the bed.

"Already called. One of Kritiker's doctors is on the way," Omi replied, looking at his watch. "He was on call at the hospital where he works, but he should be here any time." Without another word, he turned and left the room. Within a few seconds, the sound of running water came from the bathroom.

Yohji ran his fingers through his hair and sighed again. "I don't like for him to have to wait," he called in a flat tone.

Omi returned carrying a bowl of water. He used his elbow to shove the lamp and clock out of the way so that he could place the bowl on the table beside the bed. As he sat down on the bed next to Aya, he removed a towel from the bowl and twisted it to remove the excess water. He gently placed the cool towel on Aya's forehead in an attempt to give him some relief from the fever. He was still extremely mad at Yohji, and refused to even look at the tall blonde sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"I don't like for him to have to wait," Yohji repeated, raising his voice slightly, as if he thought Omi hadn't heard him the first time.

"Hmm," Omi replied, still, without looking up at the older man. "Well, maybe you should have thought of that last night when you decided to go off on your little detour instead of meeting him at the mission location." He gently rested the cool towel against the large bruise on Aya's face. Finally, he turned and gave Yohji another angry glare. "What happened to his face?" he asked in an icy cold voice that probably would have made Aya proud, if he had been awake to hear it.

Yohji stared intently at the floor near his feet for a few moments, as he tried to decide on the best way to respond to the boy's question. 'Hell,' he finally thought, when he looked up to see the rage written so plainly on Omi's normally calm face, 'Doesn't matter what I tell him. I'm so up shit creek with this kid nothing I do is gonna be OK.' He looked from Omi's icy stare to the redhead lying quietly on the bed and thought, 'And, I guess that's really the way it should be. You deserve this Kuduo.'

He sighed and turned his attention from Aya to stare directly into Omi's eyes and replied, "He kinda hit his head."

"Hit his head?" Omi echoed, frowning. "On what?"

"Um ," Yohji mumbled, looking down at his feet again, "My foot."

"What?!"

"Um well," Yohji struggled to come up with a rational explanation, and then realized he would just have to go with the truth. "He he couldn't make it back to the cars, and it it was the only way he would let me carry him. You know how damn stubborn he is." Even as the words came out of his mouth, Yohji cringed internally because the explanation sounded so lame, even to him.

Omi had been trying to hold back his anger, but, now, he seemed to explode with rage. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand snaked out to grab the nearest item, Aya's clock, and he threw it at Yohji, aiming for the older man's head. Yohji, who had been intently studying his shoes, heard the clock's alarm bell jangle slightly and looked up to see the impromptu missile streaking toward him. He ducked just in time, and the clock crashed into the wall behind his head and shattered with a loud clanging noise.

Yohji turned a shocked, surprised, wide-eyed stare on the boy. "What what the hell are you doing?" he yelled. "You could have hit me with that!"

Omi jumped up from the bed and closed the distance between them with lightening quick speed. He grabbed a fistful of Aya's jacket, which Yohji was still wearing, and forcefully pulled the taller, heavier blonde slightly out of the chair so that their noses were almost touching. Yohji hadn't ever seen the boy like this. He and Aya were the high-strung ones in the group. Omi normally played the peacemaker and served as a buffer between them or between one of them and Ken, who seemed to serve as the team whipping boy whenever one of the oldest members was in a foul mood. Now, though, Yohji could see pure, unadulterated rage shining from the boy's eyes. He swallowed, hard, as he realized that, for possibly the first time since he had known Omi, he was really and truly afraid of the kid.

"You have some nerve," Omi snarled in a low voice through clenched teeth. "You all you had to do was fucking show up!" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder before continuing, "He he was going to do everything. All you had to do was be there in case he ran into trouble, and you couldn't even do that! You knew he was sick. You knew he was going in there alone, whether you were there or not, but do you show up? No! You're off getting shit-faced over some dead broad, and don't pretend like you weren't! Anytime you disappear like that, it's because of Asuka. Just when I don't think you can stoop any lower; just when I think you've actually reached the absolute lowest expectation anyone can have for you, you actually surprise me. She's dead, Yohji! Don't you understand? Dead. Shit! I'da thought it woulda sunk in by now!"

Yohji tried to fight the anger building within him. He knew Omi was upset because none of them had known Aya was this sick when he had agreed to the mission, because Aya was lying there in the bed right in front of them and neither of them could do a damn thing to help him. He knew Omi was furious with him for abandoning Aya, and he knew he deserved it. But, when he heard Omi talk that way about Asuka, he couldn't control his anger. He pushed the boy roughly, sending him stumbling backward. Omi yelped in anger and surprise as he struggled to regain his balance and ended up falling heavily on top of Aya. The redhead didn't even make a sound when Omi's weight suddenly came to rest on his chest and torso.

"Shit!" Yohji hissed through clenched teeth.

He jumped to his feet and grabbed the front of Omi's shirt to pull him off of their injured friend. The boy allowed Yohji to pull him off of the bed, but, as soon as he was back on his feet, he angrily shoved at the older blonde's hands, forcing Yohji to release him. Yohji immediately let go of Omi and leaned around the boy to check on Aya. The redhead's breathing was still labored, but fairly even, and it didn't look like his wounds had started to bleed again. Yohji glared at Omi and stalked the short distance back to his chair. He was still glaring at the boy as he lowered himself heavily back into his seat.

"I loved her," he said quietly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor between his shoes. "I I loved her."

Omi sighed, his anger broken by his sudden tumble onto Aya and by the sorrow he heard in the older man's voice. He sat down on the floor next to Yohji's chair and leaned against the older man's legs. "I know," he said quietly. "I know, but drowning yourself in liquor isn't going to change the fact that she's gone. It it isn't going to change anything, Yohji." He looked toward the still figure lying on the bed and continued, "Aya's still alive, and he needed you. He's you know, I know he can be such an asshole but, in his own way he he's always looking out for all of us. Even if he's hurting even if he's not feeling up to it whatever. He he never says anything about it if something's bothering him. He's always you know, there, whenever we need him." The boy sighed again, and looked up at Yohji with wide, serious eyes. "How many times has he come out in the middle of the night to pick you up and drag your drunken ass home after a heavy night? He's the only one of us who will still do it, you know. Me and Ken we've both had enough of your crap already. He needed you, Yohji. He needed you, and you couldn't even show up."

Yohji nodded and brushed Omi's hair in a gentle, affectionate gesture as he replied in a soft voice, "I know, kiddo. I know. I'll be spending a lot of time trying to make it up to him once he gets better."

****


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

_Aya opened his eyes and immediately felt disoriented and confused, as if the entire world was rushing in on him. Everything around him was burning; flames stretched as far as he could see, and the fire's roar was almost deafening. Terror washed over him as he realized that he was in the middle of a field full of fire. He shouted at the top of his lungs for Yohji, Omi, Ken, anyone. But he could barely even hear his own voice above the fire's noise. Although he continued to shout, he knew no one would respond; there wasn't anyone around to hear him yelling. Even if anyone had been there, it wouldn't have mattered. He knew there wasn't anyone left in this world to care whether he lived or died. He looked down and was surprised to realize that he was wearing his assassin gear. He couldn't remember putting it on. He stepped backward slightly, shielding his face, as flames jumped up in front of him and lapped at his heavy boots, scorching the silver buckles that ran along their sides. The smell of burning, melting leather was nauseating. He clamped his hand over his mouth and fell to his knees as he felt his stomach lurch._

_The flames seemed to close in on him, reminding him of hungry wolves closing in for a kill, and he absently wondered if their targets felt this way in the final moments before Weiss closed in on them. He shielded his face against the heat and tried to step backward again, only to find any retreat cut off by a circle of fire. In spite of the fire surrounding him, he was ice-cold; he couldn't ever remember being so cold, and, as the flames continued to close in, he wrapped his arms around his body to gather whatever warmth was available to him. As he stared at the field of fire surrounding him, he wondered, almost absently, 'How the hell could I be cold in the middle of all this damn fire?'_

_"Ran! Ran! Where are you?"_

_The voice barely carried over the fire's noise. Aya stood in response to the familiar sound. He stepped into the circle of fire surrounding him and swatted at the flames that licked onto his leather coat as he strained to see through the smoke and fiery haze obscuring his vision. Finally, he saw her, standing a short distance away. She smiled at him and beckoned for him to come to her. Although flames surrounded him, she was standing in a green, grassy field full of yellow flowers. She had woven some of them into a chain, which she wore in her hair, and she held more of the yellow blooms in her hand._

_"Aya!" he yelled. He felt relief and joy wash over him at the sight of her, and he quickly began to move forward in response to her outstretched hand, completely ignoring the flames that greedily grabbed and sucked at the sleeves and hem of his jacket and at his boots._

_She laughed again and waved to him, seemingly oblivious to the flames surrounding him, and he couldn't help but smile back at her. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled, but, now, with her here, it seemed like everything was going to be all right --- for the first time in a long, long time. In spite of the flames that still tried to pull him down with them, he laughed and continued to move forward, toward her beautiful, happy smile._

_Suddenly, his parents were standing next to her. He could have sworn that they weren't there a few moments before, but he didn't care. If he had stopped to think about the situation, he would have known that this wasn't right. He was surrounded by fire that engulfed but didn't burn him, and, yet, he was freezing. His sister and dead parents were right there, almost within arm's reach --- not more than a few feet away from him, yet the more he moved toward them, the further away they seemed to be. He was an assassin. His mind was sharp and well-trained, no matter what the situation, and it was telling him that this was all wrong, that this entire situation couldn't be happening. He could hear his mind yelling at him, but he didn't care. He wanted to belong somewhere; he wanted to be with them, and it didn't matter where they were. He began to run forward, desperate now to reach them, but they continued to move further and further away from him, until, finally, they began to disappear. Just as he managed to reach them, just as he reached out to touch Aya's hand, they all burst into flames right in front of him._

_The fire didn't even touch him, but he could only stand there and watch as first his mother, then his father, and, finally, his beloved little Aya, were consumed. As she faded, Aya still smiled at him and held her hand out to him, and he still reached out to her, as if he could stay with her if he managed to grab hold of her wrist in time._

_As she faded, he fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands, and screamed, "NO! AYA, NO! DON'T DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!" He was still screaming as the flames closed in completely, but his voice was lost in the noise of the roaring fire._

Over his sobs, he heard a new sound, a familiar voice calling to him. Was that Yohji? He wanted to follow his family, or, failing that, to stay there and let the flames completely consume him. He didn't belong anywhere. He didn't belong to anyone any more. But, the new voice continued to call to him, and he couldn't ignore it.

****


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Aya's scream cut through the heavy nighttime silence that had fallen over the flower shop and the rooms they shared above it. It reached out, as if it was a living thing, to grab Yohji and drag him out of a sound sleep with icy, black talons. The oldest Weiss member jolted awake, succeeding in toppling the chair, which had been his bed for the last week, to the ground. As Aya screamed again, Yohji struggled to untangle his long legs from the chair's seat and arms. By the third scream, he had managed to free himself, and he stumbled toward the bed, closing the short distance with only a couple of long strides.

He reached Aya just as the redhead was about to unleash another unearthly, ear-drum-shattering scream, and gathered the younger man into his arms as gently as possible, muttering softly, "Aya, shhh. It's OK. You're OK."

Aya was shaking, sobbing, and whimpering in pain and fear. Yohji could hear him muttering: _"Aya!" "Mom!" "Dad!" "No! Don't don't leave me don't leave me alone!"_. He knew that Aya was fighting against ghosts from his past, and, with each passing day, it seemed to be more and more of a losing struggle.

Aya moaned and struggled weakly against the arms that encircled him. He didn't have enough strength to inflict any real damage, but he succeeded in landing a lucky blow across Yohji's face with his elbow, which made stars dance momentarily in front of the older man's eyes and succeeded in re-blackening the swollen eye he had inflicted on Yohji that first night in the restaurant, a little over a week ago.

Since he had returned to the flower shop with Aya, the redhead's condition had shown little improvement. The Kritiker doctor, when he finally arrived, had announced that Aya had a pretty bad case of pneumonia, and that he had, most likely, already been sick with it when he went on the mission. It confirmed Yohji's initial suspicions, but, still, did nothing to salve the guilt he still felt. When both Yohji and Omi expressed surprise at the diagnosis, the doctor had told them that this condition was not quick to develop, and that Aya had probably been sick for months. Yohji could still remember the questioning look the doctor had thrown at them, as if he was asking how they could possibly have missed something like this, but Omi and he had only been able to stare at the ground and mumble that Aya was good at hiding things. Even to them, it had sounded so damn lame. Yohji still seethed with anger as he recalled the self-righteous way the doctor had acted. What the hell did that guy know, anyhow? He was one of Kritiker's newer acquisitions, and he hadn't ever even seen Aya before. He certainly couldn't know their leader as well as they could. Still, Yohji knew that part of his anger, and Omi's too, was directed inward. They were both upset with themselves at not noticing Aya's condition before it had deteriorated into something this serious. After watching Yohji and Omi squirm around and try to make excuses for allowing their leader's health to fail, the doctor had set them up with IV antibiotics and fluids. He had wanted to immediately transport the redhead to a hospital, but Yohji had been adamant about keeping Aya there. After a little persuasive arguing on his part, Omi had finally agreed with his decision. They both knew how terrified Aya was of doctors and hospitals, and neither of them could bear the thought of seeing their leader in that kind of setting. The doctor had managed to give them one small measure of relief by confirming that the gunshot wounds weren't very serious, although Aya had lost a lot of blood during his escape from the police.

That had all happened about a week ago, although it seemed like a much longer time to Yohji. Aya had been drifting in and out of consciousness --- mostly out, if one had to be brutally honest about the state of things --- and, thanks to his high fever, which had yet to break, his few waking moments hadn't exactly been lucid. Yohji had remained with the Weiss leader the entire time, and it seemed to him that the week had passed as one big blur, broken only by the redhead's feverish nightmares and screams of fear and sorrow. Aya had awakened time and time again, screaming out one name after another --- his mother's name, his father's, his sister's, even the names of the other Weiss members. Each time, Yohji had been there to hold him and assure him that he wasn't alone until, finally, he had slipped back into an uneasy, restless sleep.

Yohji frowned as he struggled to hang onto Aya without harming him, and felt the full weight of his exhaustion settling in on him. He was reluctant to admit it, but he was coming to realize that the past week had taken a heavy toll on him. He wouldn't have ever admitted it to anyone, and he probably would have killed anyone who managed to guess, but he considered Aya a friend --- probably the closest friend he had in the world, even compared to the other Weiss members. When Aya had first joined them, they had all hated him. He had seemed like such a bastard ---strong, cold, calculating, carefully holding himself aloof from everyone and everything around him, but those qualities had eventually drawn Yohji to the redhead. He had initially concluded that Aya was everything he wanted to be, but could never achieve, and he had tried everything in his power to build a friendship with their icy leader. It had taken months, but Yohji had felt grateful when Aya finally seemed to accept the hand of friendship extended to him. Once Aya had opened up a little to let him in, Yohji had quickly realized that the redhead was nothing like the way he seemed. The icy façade, the anti-social behavior, and the emotionless way he had of dealing with everyone around him were all just an act --- a mask he painstakingly and carefully kept in place to shield himself. The tall blonde hadn't yet figured out just what Aya was hiding from, but, from the little he knew of the redhead's past, he could make a pretty good guess. Either way, figuring out that Aya wasn't the strong, emotionless iceberg they all thought he was had made their leader seem that much more vulnerable and in need of protection, and Yohji, despite his own selfish, lazy tendencies, had become Aya's staunchest defender. Although the other Weiss members hadn't overcome their fear of Aya and his mood swings enough to see through his mask, Yohji knew they would also give their lives to protect their leader.

Aya moaned and let out another strangled scream as he pushed against Yohji's chest. Watching him struggle and suffer like this ate away at the tall blonde. The little he had been able to understand from Aya's fevered mumblings had told him that their leader still felt he didn't have a place with them, that he didn't belong anywhere, and that no one cared whether he lived or died. That cut Yohji to the bone. How had they failed to make Aya understand how important he was to each of them? How had he failed to show Aya the friendship the redhead so desperately needed?

Days ago, Yohji had let go of the guilt that had been eating at him over his unexpected "no-show" at the last mission. He knew that his failure to back their leader up hadn't really contributed to Aya's current condition, which he considered a lucky break. Even Omi and Ken, who had returned from soccer camp a couple of days ago, had forgiven his lapse of judgment. But, knowing that Aya felt so alone and lost, that he truly believed he didn't matter to any of them, had created a new, special kind of guilt that had settled in and started to gnaw away at Yohji's heart.

Aya had just started to settle back down when a noise from behind caused Yohji to turn around. Omi and Ken were standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hallway. No doubt they had been awakened by Aya's screaming. It was a scene they had repeated more than once, and the tall blonde wondered for a moment how long the other two had been standing there watching. Yohji could feel Aya's body relaxing against his, and he smiled and waved at his other two teammates, silently letting them know that everything was all right and warning them away. Ken waved back and turned to pad silently back to his room, but Omi ignored Yohji's implied command and crept quietly into Aya's darkened room.

"Yohji," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper when the older man placed a finger to his lips as a warning, "You look exhausted. You need to get a good night's sleep."

Yohji shrugged and gently laid Aya, who was now silent, back onto the bed. He pulled the blankets up over the redhead and then turned to reply, "He needs it more." He returned to his former resting place, lowering himself heavily into the chair and nodding his thanks to Omi, who had picked up the fallen piece of furniture.

"I could stay with him," Omi said quietly. The boy moved forward to stand next to the bed and slid his hand underneath Aya's heavy bangs. He frowned slightly as he turned back toward Yohji, "He's not getting much better, is he?"

Yohji shrugged again and ran his fingers through his tangled hair, brushing it off of his face. "I don't know. I think his breathing is better if this fever would just break" His voice trailed off before he finished his thought.

"I could stay with him," Omi volunteered again, repeating his earlier statement as if he thought Yohji hadn't heard him.

Yohji shook his head. "No, I'm fine. You go back to bed. You have school tomorrow, and, besides, you know Ken will never be able to deal with all the afternoon fangirls on his own. You know how flustered he gets when no one's there to protect him." He smiled over at the boy when he heard Omi chuckle.

"Yeah," Omi replied, sliding to a sitting position on the floor. He leaned against Yohji's leg and continued, "Ken's really not good at dealing with girls, is he? I think that's why he likes working the afternoon shift with Aya, since he seems to be able to get rid of sightseers quicker than any of us."

Now it was Yohji's turn to chuckle. "Yeah. Nothing can clear a room like him yelling: _"If you're not buying anything, then leave!"_," he said, dropping his voice into his best Aya imitation. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his cupped palms. "I wouldn't mind hearing him say that right now, actually."

"It's not your fault, Yohji," Omi said. He leaned away slightly and peered up at the older man. "You don't have to feel guilty."

"I don't," Yohji said softly. "That's not why I'm staying with him. I want to. I just want to watch out for him, you know?"

Omi stretched as he stood. "Yeah, I know," he said, laying his hand gently on Yohji's shoulder as he turned to exit the room. "Just don't forget we're all in this together, OK?"

Yohji waved his hand behind his head in a silent response as he heard Omi pull the door closed behind him.

*****************************************************************

Aya awoke slowly and stared in confusion at the white ceiling above him. The day was just turning from night to dawn, and the gray half-light seemed to make the white paint glow. He had fuzzy recollections of terrible visions of his family disappearing before his eyes, abandoning him over and over again, and he wondered for a moment if he was caught up in another one of them. No, he finally decided, this couldn't be one of the dreams, if they had even been dreams in the first place --- they had seemed so real. No, this didn't feel like one of the visions. In those, there was usually a field of flowers or surrounding flames. There wasn't ever a white ceiling.

He started to sit up and immediately concluded that this was a stupid and foolhardy course of action as the room started to spin crazily around him. He decided to just lie quietly for a moment and gather his thoughts, instead. After all, there wasn't any reason to jump right into action, was there? As he continued to stare up at the ceiling, he slowly realized that he was at the apartment Weiss shared above the flower shop, in his own room. He couldn't remember coming back here, and he frowned as he realized that he didn't remember much of anything. He had a hazy recollection of something going wrong with the mission and of Yohji coming to look for him, but after that, just vague, confused snatches of the nightmares.

A soft sound to one side drew his attention away from the ceiling, and he managed to sit halfway up, leaning back on his elbows. Yohji was asleep in a chair beside the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed across his chest, head tilted back over the chair's back, and he was snoring. Aya frowned again as he wondered how long the blonde had been there. From the looks of him, Yohji had spent more than a few nights in that chair. Aya risked sitting up all the way, which, thankfully, didn't make the room spin this time, and silently watched the older man sleep. He had a feeling that he should be angry with Yohji over something. Considering how irresponsible and selfish the tall blonde normally was, he was certain Yohji deserved it, but another memory surfaced to erase any anger he might have held toward his companion. He remembered feeling so lost, alone, and afraid during the nightmares, but there had been something else, too --- a voice telling him that everything was all right, that he wasn't alone anymore. He realized with a start that the voice had belonged to Yohji.

'Why?' he wondered. 'Why would Yohji do that?'

Aya shook his head in irritation, and groaned quietly when the gesture seemed to shake his brain loose and cause it to rattle around in his skull. He settled for glaring at Yohji, instead. He didn't understand the man, and he found that fact vaguely irritating. Yohji acted like his friend; Yohji said he wanted to be his friend. But, Aya knew better. He didn't have friends. He was a killer, a murderer. Murderers didn't deserve friends. So, what was the blonde up to? What was he trying to pull? He hadn't yet figured it out, but he knew he would, eventually. Everyone wanted something from him, and he was sure the oldest Weiss member was no different. He wanted and needed friendship and companionship so badly, and he desperately wanted to accept the friendly hand Yohji seemed to extend to him. But, each time he came close to allowing himself to feel, to allowing himself to drop the protective mask he hid behind, his mind would remind him that everyone wanted something, and time would tell what Yohji Kuduo wanted from him. His mind kept reminding him that no one on this earth could possibly want to be his friend just for the hell of it.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to Aya, one that spurred him to get out of bed, against his better judgment. He groaned quietly as his feet touched the floor. His head ached, and every part of his body hurt. How was it possible for even the bottoms of his feet to hurt like this? He leaned heavily on the side of the bed as the room tilted and whirled crazily around him, but, after a few minutes, he managed to choke down the dizziness and get his bearings. Things were starting to come back to him now, and he remembered being in an alley in the pouring rain and stealing yes, stealing a coat from a homeless man. He pushed back another wave of dizziness and a few black spots that popped up and clouded his vision, and then moved purposefully toward his dresser. He remembered now that there was somewhere he needed to be. There was a debt he needed to pay. He succeeded in dressing without waking Yohji, although he paused every few moments to make sure the older man was still snoring quietly. If Yohji or the others found out, they'd probably make a big scene. At the least, he was certain they wouldn't be happy about him leaving the house. No, he definitely had to sneak out unnoticed.

It only took him a few additional minutes to gather the things he wanted to take with him. Before long, he stood in front of the door holding a couple of pairs of his old pants, a few shirts, and a heavy canvas jacket that he hadn't worn in months. He paused in the doorway for a moment and sighed as he silently dropped the clothes on the floor and stalked back to the chair, where Yohji still slept. He glared down at the older man and, before he could change his mind, removed the blanket from his bed and settled it over Yohji in one smooth motion.

He crept down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky spots in the old wood. He paused momentarily before he passed the doorways to first Omi's and then Ken's, rooms, holding his breath until he heard sounds from within that told him they were sleeping undisturbed. Yohji's room was the last one he had to pass before he reached the stairs that would take him down to the door to the outside world, but Yohji was asleep in his room, so Aya knew he was home free. As he crossed in front of the blonde's door, he paused again, momentarily lost in thought. Having made up his mind, he entered the room and began rummaging around in Yohji's dresser drawers. If anyone would have the things he wanted, it would be the oldest Weiss member. He knew that Yohji had a penchant for hiding cigarettes and booze all over the house so that none of them would know how much he actually drank or smoked, but he also knew that the tall blonde liked keeping a certain amount of his stash close at hand --- for emergencies. Finding nothing in the first drawer, he pushed it almost-closed and pulled open the next one. He frowned and slammed it shut almost immediately when he realized that it was Yohji's underwear drawer. He shook his head. No. It was too horrible. He couldn't bring himself to look in there. He opened a third drawer and felt relieved when he found socks. He shoved around several mismatched pairs of footwear, wondering why Yohji, who was always so immaculately dressed and such a fashion hound, would have socks that didn't match. Finally, he found what he wanted, and smiled as he lifted a pack of cigarettes and a full bottle of scotch from the drawer. He glanced back into the drawer and chuckled softly as he realized it was Yohji's last bottle. He got unsteadily back to his feet, using the dresser for support, and made his way out of the room. He was still laughing as he descended the stairs, picturing the look on Yohji's face when the older man discovered his last bottle of scotch was missing.

****


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

"YOHJI! YOHJI! WAKE UP! HE'S GONE!"

Omi's voice screeched into Yohji's head and hammered against his skull. Yohji groaned and opened one eye to stare up at Aya's ceiling. The day had dawned, and the early morning light was slanting through the crack at the bottom of the closed blinds. It made the ceiling look so unbearably white that it actually hurt his eyes to look at it. He felt like he had just dropped into an uncomfortable, restless sleep moments before, and he didn't want to do anything except hang his head back over the back of this damn chair and go to sleep for about a hundred years. But, the screechy, panicked tone in Omi's voice and the hand shaking him by the shoulder wouldn't allow it. Yohji rolled his eye back up toward the impossibly white ceiling and then turned it slowly toward Omi, who was staring down at him and dancing nervously from foot to foot.

"What what are you chattering about?" he asked. His voice sounded as groggy as his head felt. He put his hand over Omi's and said, "Stop stop with the shaking, OK? You're making me sick."

"Sorry," Omi said quietly, but, to Yohji's satisfaction, he stopped shaking him. "He's gone," the boy repeated in a quieter tone.

"Who?" Yohji asked.

Omi sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, as if it would tell him why Yohji was so stupid. "AYA!" he screeched again, when Yohji still didn't catch on quickly enough. "AYA IS GONE!"

Suddenly, Yohji was completely and irrevocably awake. He jumped out of the chair, succeeding in tangling himself up in the blanket Aya had draped over him, and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He absently wondered where this damn blanket had come from, and groaned as he finally managed to kick free of the mess inhibiting his movements. Once he was loose, he fumbled around on the floor for a moment, feeling for his sunglasses, which had fallen off of his face when he fell. He replaced them, as if they would somehow improve his vision, and then peered over the rims at the empty bed.

"What the fuck?" he asked absently as he sat, cross-legged, on the floor and scratched his head. He looked over at Omi and asked, "Downstairs?" He frowned when Omi silently shook his head in response. "Ken?" Yohji asked, receiving only another head shake.

Yohji sighed heavily and stared at the bed for a few minutes, silently pondering over where their leader might be. Aya's fever had finally broken late last night, but the redhead was still pretty sick. He didn't think Aya could really get very far in his condition, but, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out where that stubborn little shit might have gone.

"You check the roof?" he asked, looking back toward his younger companion.

"Yes!" Omi practically shouted. "Yes! I checked the roof. I checked downstairs. Ken's still sleeping, and he's not anywhere around here." He stomped his foot and began his nervous dance again when Yohji only stared absently at him. "He's still sick!" he screeched, making Yohji wince.

"What did you just say?" Yohji asked as a thought began to form in his sleep-muddled mind.

"I said he's nowhere!" Omi yelled back.

Omi's casual phrase seemed to cement Yohji's thought. He stood up and patted the boy gently on the head, earning an irritated glare and swat at his hand from the younger blonde. "It'll be OK, kid," he said as he moved toward the door. "I think I know where he is, but you stay here in case I don't find him. Ken, too." He paused at the door and looked back toward the boy. "I mean it. Don't you guys come looking for him." He waited for Omi to nod his agreement and then left the room.

************************************************************

Aya had to change buses twice to get across town. He had forgotten to check on what day it was before he left the flower shop, but the bus was crowded with kids in school uniforms and men in business suits, which made him conclude it must be a week day. About ten minutes into the second bus ride, he gave up his seat to a pregnant woman who was carrying some large shopping bags. She smiled her thanks to him and slid heavily into the seat as he moved behind her to grab the overhead hand rail. Almost as soon as she sat down, she pulled a newspaper from one of her bags and opened it to the front page. Although her hand obscured the date, he managed to lean over her shoulder long enough to read the day --- Monday --- which surprised him. He vaguely recalled that his last mission had been scheduled to take place on a Friday. He didn't know how long he had been down, but he had a distinct feeling it was a lot longer than a couple of days. Aya frowned and absently wondered exactly how long he had been sick. He thought about it for a few minutes, and then decided he'd have to break down and ask Yohji, no matter how painful it was to admit his lack of knowledge to his irritating teammate. He didn't exactly know why, but he was sure Yohji would know, and he had no doubt that the older man would take immense pleasure in telling him. The tall blonde always seemed to love it when he knew something that others didn't.

By the time he reached his stop, Aya was exhausted from standing and trying to keep his balance on the swaying bus. The fact that he couldn't seem to shake the dizziness that insisted on following him around like a lost puppy or the little black spots that seemed determined to float at the edges of his vision didn't really help matters all that much. As he stepped off of the bus, a small gust of wind hit him, and he shivered. It felt like cold knives cutting right through his body, and he pulled his jacket a little closer to seek some extra warmth. It was only early fall, but it was still pretty chilly, and, by the time he had walked a block, Aya was beginning to wish he had worn a heavier coat. He slid to a sitting position on the sidewalk, leaning back against a sunny spot on one of the buildings, to rest for a while and get his bearings. He thought the alley he wanted was in this direction, but it had been dark and pouring down rain the last time he was here. Everything looked really different now in the sunny light of day, and he felt like he needed to look around a bit to make sure he was in the right place. Just when he was beginning to be sure he had gotten off at the wrong stop, he thought he recognized a store sign a little further down the street, and he stood up to get a better look at it, shading his eyes and squinting into the sun. After a few minutes, he was finally able to discern the sign's shape --- a blue hippo wearing a pink tutu and ballerina slippers. He wasn't sure what kind of store would have a sign like that, but he remembered leaning against it to rest when he was trying to escape the police after the mission.

'Yep,' he thought as he gathered up the bag containing the items he had gathered earlier that morning and started to walk toward the alley marked by the sign, 'You just don't forget leaning against a giant hippo in a tutu.'

Within a few minutes, he stood in front of the alley entrance next to the big ballerina hippo, which, oddly enough, turned out to be a sign for a children's clothing store. Aya stared at the sign briefly and absently wondered why otherwise-normal people would dress their children in something that came from a store represented by a giant dancing hippo. It just didn't seem right, and it was so damn cute that it actually made him sick to his stomach. He was pretty sure he wouldn't live long enough to have kids of his own, but, if he did, he swore he would make it a point to steer clear of stores like this one, especially if they had big, dancing animals as mascots. Okay, well, dancing bears might be all right, but hippos or elephants --- never.

'OK, Ran, let go of the hippo,' he told himself as he dragged his mind away from its wanderings and back to the task at hand. He peered into the long alley, which was dark at the far end, despite the early morning sun that poured down onto the street and sidewalk. 'Yeah,' he thought, 'This is definitely the place. It looks the same, even now.'

He stepped into the alley, and quickly crossed the sunny spot at its mouth to enter the shadows. The back doors of several businesses opened onto the alley, where the proprietors put their garbage and empty boxes, and he thought he remembered the doorway that had served as his shelter that night being about halfway down its length. He wasn't sure about it, but he hoped he would be able to find the homeless man, whose jacket he had stolen that night, at their original meeting place. Just to make sure he didn't accidentally pass up the doorway he wanted, Aya paused at each portal leading from a store out into the alley. He saw homeless people sleeping or sitting in several doorways, but none of them looked like the man he remembered from that night. He continued slowly, looking in a doorway to the left side of the alley and then one to the right side, until he reached a doorjamb about halfway down that had a vaguely familiar look about it. He stopped in front of it and stared into the doorway's deeper shadows for a moment, until a shape seemed to materialize.

There was a man sleeping there. He was sitting, slumped against the right side of the doorframe, with his back to the door behind him, and he was snoring softly. His pale skin barely showed through the dirt covering it, although he didn't look quite as dirty as Aya remembered him. He had a thin, scraggly, brown beard and long, greasy, brown hair. He was wearing a pair of filthy pants, which looked like they might have once been Khaki dungarees, and a grubby t-shirt that looked like it had been white, or, maybe, light blue in another lifetime. Despite the chilly air in the alley's shadows, Aya noted, with a slight twinge of guilt, that the man wasn't wearing a coat. He squinted and tried to imagine the man in the dark and pouring rain, as if that fuzzy memory would tell him whether he had the right person or not. He hadn't realized that he'd been standing there staring at the man for very long, but he suddenly became aware of two piercing brown-gold eyes glaring back at him.

"What do you want?" the man asked, still glaring at him. "There's nothing here for the taking." The man continued to stare hostilely at Aya, who stood in the alley and quietly stared back at him, until, finally he said, "Hey wait a minute. I I know you. You're the fucker who stole my coat!"

Aya shrugged, now that he had confirmation of the man's identity, and replied, "Yeah." He gestured toward the empty step beside the man and asked, "Do you mind?"

The man shrugged in response, and Aya, interpreting the gesture as permission, sat down, placing the shopping bag he carried in between them.

The homeless man stared at Aya for a long time, and the redhead squirmed under his piercing gaze. Finally, the man said, "So? Come back here to make fun of the bum?"

Aya shook his head. "No," he said quietly, pushing the shopping bag toward the man sitting beside him. "Actually, I came to apologize for taking your coat. And um well, I thought these might make up for it somewhat."

The guy gave Aya a confused look and slowly reached for the shopping bag. He hesitantly reached into it, as if he was expecting some sort of booby trap, and pulled out the shirts. He shook his head, and reached into the bag again to pull out the pants, followed by a jacket, socks, and, finally, a pair of shoes.

"What the hell?" he asked, staring at Aya over the top of the bag. He quickly shoved the clothing back into the sack and asked, "What kind of stunt are you trying to pull, kid? These are nice clothes. They stolen?"

"No!" Aya exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "They they're just some of my old clothes. I figured we were about the same size you know from the coat. I just thought that, maybe you could use them, and um I uh, well, I just wanted to say I was sorry for leaving you without a coat and all."

Aya jumped when the guy laughed. "You clean up pretty good, kid," he said. He paused for a few moments, watching Aya squirm uncomfortably, and then said, "Seems you're not really used to apologizing to people, huh?" He laughed again at the shocked, wide-eyed look Aya gave him. "Don't worry, boy. I'm not a mind reader. It's written all over your face. I don't think I've ever seen anyone turn that exact shade of red before." He extended his hand over the shopping bag and said, "My name's Hank."

Aya paused, unsure of how to respond to the unfamiliar, foreign gesture of greeting. Finally, he hesitantly took the man's outstretched hand and clasped it in a firm handshake. "Ran," he muttered, looking down at the ground at his feet in embarrassment. "My name's Ran."

"Well, pleased to meet 'ya, Ran," Hank said as he gave Aya's hand a firm shake. He chuckled again at the redhead's obvious discomfort with the gesture and personal contact, and then turned to root through the bag as he commented, "Don't meet too many nice people out here, you know." He paused as he felt something at the bottom of the bag that didn't feel like clothing. "Hey!" he called out triumphantly as he pulled the bottle of scotch and package of cigarettes out of the bag. "Wow! Smokes!" He held the bottle up to the light so that he could read its label. "Hey, this is premium hooch, too!"

"Hooch?" Aya asked, repeating the unfamiliar English word and raising his eyebrow in a questioning gesture.

Hank nodded and laughed as he uncapped the bottle, "Yeah. You know booze, liquor." He took a drink and then held the bottle out to Aya. "Want some?"

Aya stared at the bottle for a moment. He wasn't used to associating with people so closely, and he was a bit unsure of what he should do. After Hank gave him an encouraging smile, he shrugged, took the bottle from his companion, and silently took a large drink.

****


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Yohji quickly pulled into an empty parking space and turned off his car. About a block away, further up the street, he could see the large, blue, dancing hippo sign that marked the alleyway where he had found Aya on the night of that last mission. He hoped against hope that he would find the redhead there now. He didn't have any idea how long Aya had been gone before Omi had noticed his disappearance, and it had taken him almost an hour and a half to get here from the flower shop, thanks to the morning traffic. Yohji just hoped that Aya had come here on purpose, as opposed to wandering aimlessly around town in a feverish state. If it was the latter, it would take him forever to find the redhead.

He stretched the aching muscles in his back and shoulders as he stepped out of his car. Over a week in that damn uncomfortable chair sure hadn't done any wonders for his back. He felt like he could have done with a few more days of sleep, and he really wished Aya had chosen a better time for his little disappearing act.

Yohji sighed and reached into the car to retrieve the heavy leather bomber jacket he had brought for Aya. "Stupid Aya," he muttered under his breath as he locked the car doors behind him and turned toward the hippo sign. "He's nothing but trouble to me. Could he let me sleep in? No not him, selfish bastard. I'm so gonna kick his ass when I find him." He looked down at the jacket he held in his hand and then up into the sky as he mumbled, "I'm sure that idiot ran off without a proper coat on. I swear, I don't even know why I bother."

Yohji jogged down the street toward the alley. He didn't want to admit it, but he wouldn't really be able to relax until he saw Aya with his own eyes and knew the redhead was all right. With his long strides, it only took a couple of minutes before he was standing beside the hippo. He looked over at the sign and thought, as he had the last time he had seen it, that it was possibly the most idiotic, ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. What kind of whacked-out weirdo used a giant, dancing hippo for advertising?

'It takes a sick, sick mind to think up something like that,' he thought as he patted the hippo's bulging nose and entered the relative darkness of the alley.

He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He could hear voices from about halfway down the alley. It sounded like two people talking and laughing, and he thought he recognized one of the voices as Aya's. Yohji frowned as he thought, 'Wait a minute **Aya**, laughing? Too weird.' He shrugged and jogged down the alley toward the voices.

*********************************************************

"So," Hank asked as he took another drink and passed the bottle, which was now half-empty, over to Aya, "What the hell were you doing out here in all that weather the other night? You sorta looked the part then, but, lookin' at 'ya now, I can't imagine you spend just a ton of time hanging out in dark alleys and such."

Aya took a large drink from the bottle and laughed, "You'd be surprised at where I hang out. But, my business out here that night is just that my business. It's best to leave it at that." Aya's voice clearly implied that this would be the end of any discussion on the matter, and that anyone inquiring further would probably regret it.

Hank stared at his new drinking companion for a moment. This "Ran" kid was a strange one, that was for sure. He seemed pleasant enough; Hank had certainly had his share of more unpleasant drinking buddies. But, he sure didn't say much, and, when he did, it was only in the form of short answers to Hank's questions. Somehow, though, Hank got the feeling that there was a lot more meaning behind the things he said. Besides that, he was pretty sure the kid was drunk. His speech wasn't all that slurred, but his laughter was giddy, and his eyes were bright and a bit unfocused --- all sure signs that he was feeling no pain. But he had yet to let any information about himself slip. Hank hadn't known very many men who were capable of that.

'Yep,' he thought, as he took the bottle back from Aya, 'Any way you look at it, there's a lot more to this kid than meets the eye.'

"Hmm," Hank said, his words muffled as he took a swallow from the bottle. He opened the package of cigarettes Aya had given him and shook out one of the sticks. As he placed the cigarette between his lips, he mumbled, "If you don't want to tell me why you were here that night, at least tell me why you did all this. I mean, I've had lots of stuff stolen since I started living on the streets, but no one ever returned anything or did anything nice like this for me before. So, what's your angle? Trying to get into Heaven or what?" He glanced sideways at Aya with pleading eyes and said, "Please tell me you've got a light for these."

Aya threw back his head and laughed a loud laugh that came right from his belly. The laughter quickly disintegrated into a bone-shuddering cough. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth for a few moments. "Getting into Heaven," he gasped, when he managed to catch his breath, "Now, that's a funny one. If only you knew how far away from the truth you were about me. You wouldn't believe it." He looked over at Hank, who was staring at him with a look that told him he had probably just grown three heads. "I'm sorry, though, I don't think I have a light, unless " He paused as a thought occurred to him. The jacket he was wearing wasn't his. It was Yohji's. He had grabbed it off of the living room sofa when he had gone out to do some nighttime snooping for that last mission, and he had just left it in his room afterward. If he knew Yohji at all, there was probably a lighter here somewhere, and he fumbled around in the pockets. "Ha!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a lighter and held it up triumphantly.

"All right, now we're cookin'!" Hank exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.

"Cookin'?" Aya repeated, raising his eyebrow and cocking his head to the side in a questioning gesture.

Hank stared at him for a second, and then waved his hand in front of his face, "Ah, never mind. Just hand over that lighter!"

Aya balanced the lighter in between his first two fingers and held it out to Hank in a casual gesture. When the other man leaned forward to take it, he snatched it away, laughing in response to Hank's fake cry of anger. "Only if you give me one of those, too," he said, dangling the lighter just in front of Hank's nose, like a carrot in front of a horse.

"From the sound of that cough, you really shouldn't be using these," Hank replied, but he shook out another cigarette and passed it to Aya.

Aya lit the cigarette and then cupped his hands around the stick Hank held between his lips, to light it, too. Once that was done, he tossed the lighter to the other man. "For later," he said in response to the question he saw in Hank's eyes. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before tilting his head back to blow it out into the cool mid-morning air. It hung above his head like a small cloud for a moment and then dissipated on the breeze. As he sucked in a second time, he started coughing again, and doubled over to hold his ribs, as if that action could stop the burning ache and rattle he felt in his lungs. He didn't let go of the cigarette, though, and, once the coughing fit stopped, he continued to take drag after drag and blow little clouds of smoke out over his head. After a few pulls, he brought the scotch bottle to his lips with shaking hands and took a long drink, coughing and choking slightly as he swallowed around the cigarette he still held in his mouth.

Hank watched him silently for a few moments and then turned away, shaking his head. "You sure seem in a hurry to destroy yourself, kid," he commented as he puffed his own cigarette and stared up at the sky.

"My destruction is my business," Aya replied, his voice and eyes hard. He didn't look at Hank, but, instead, stared at the ground directly at his feet.

Hank shrugged and decided not to pursue the topic any further. This kid was likeable enough, but something about him was frightening. That cold voice and those hard, cruel eyes, made the hairs on the back of Hank's neck stand on end. "Hey," he said, "Suit yourself, kid." He paused for a few moments and regarded Aya silently out of the corner of his eye. "So," he finally continued, when it seemed safe to converse with the redhead again, "Why did you come down here? Why did you bring me these things?"

Aya shrugged and leaned his head against the door jamb that was acting as his support. He sighed and stared up at the sky as he quietly said, "No reason, I guess. I mean I don't know. I guess I guess it's because we're just alike, you know. Nowhere to go, nowhere to belong."

Hank seemed to think about this for a while. "Yeah, a "Nowhere Man", just like in that song. Guess that pretty much describes me, that's for sure." He gave Aya a piercing look, as if he was trying to ascertain exactly what the kid was thinking, and then continued, "But, you're nothing like me, kid. No one cares about me, about whether I live or die. There's no one left in this world to look for me, but someone always comes looking for you." He gestured slightly forward, toward the alley.

Almost as if on cue, a shadow fell across the dimly lit doorway, darkening it even further. Aya looked up to see a familiar pair of shoes. He allowed his eyes to travel upward, squinting and placing his open hand over them in a saluting motion to shield them against the sunlight that now poured into the alley, and finally arrived at a familiar, very unhappy-looking face framed by honey-blonde hair and topped with a pair of dark sunglasses. Was it just his imagination, or had Yohji gotten a **lot** taller?

"Huh," Aya said, putting his hand down. He grinned crookedly at Yohji and then gestured from the tall blonde to his new drinking companion and back again as he said, "Yohji, Hank. Hank, Yohji."

Yohji ignored the introductions and crouched down in front of Aya, pulling the sunglasses down on his nose to study the redhead closely with worried green eyes. Finally, he sighed and asked, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Aya eyed Yohji calmly, and then looked down at the half-full liquor bottle he still held in his hand. "Um," he replied slowly, as if he was collecting his thoughts, "Smoking and drinking?"

Yohji frowned. "Yeah. So I see," he commented flatly. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Aya's hair, pulling the redhead's face slightly into the light so that he could get a better look at Aya's eyes. He frowned again at what he saw there. Aya was obviously either drunk or high as a kite, or, maybe, considering the amount of antibiotics and painkillers running through his system, both of those things. The redhead's normally clear, violet eyes were slightly glazed over, unfocused, and very, very shiny. He released his hold on Aya's hair when the swordsman angrily swatted at his arm and hand.

Aya took a long drag from his cigarette, which caused him to double over coughing. Yohji took advantage of this momentary imbalance of power to reach over and grab the cigarette out of Aya's mouth with an angry jerk. He started to stub it out against the building's brick wall, when he noticed that it had only been smoked half-way and reconsidered his actions. Instead of putting the glowing little stick out, he stuck it in his own mouth and then proceeded to pick Aya up off of the ground. Once he was again sitting upright, leaning against the doorjamb, Aya grabbed for the cigarette, but Yohji jerked his head backward, out of the swordsman's reach.

"Nope," he said as he calmly batted the redhead's hands away. "People who have pneumonia definitely shouldn't be smoking." He made a great show of taking a long drag off of the cigarette and slowly blowing the smoke out into the air, and he laughed in response to Aya's little growls of frustration.

"You're so damn funny," Aya snarled, glaring at Yohji. The redhead glanced back over at Hank and snapped, "Give me another one of those."

The younger man's voice was angry, flat, and toneless, leaving no room for argument, and the homeless man silently passed the package over to Aya in response to his request. Frankly, he had the feeling he didn't want to argue with either one of these guys, so he decided to just let them duel it out on their own. Just as Aya started to reach for the cigarettes, Yohji's hand shot out to grab the package away from Hank.

"Give him another one, and I'll kill you for real," he growled through clenched teeth. He speared the homeless man with a look that would peel paint. When he looked down at the half-empty package crushed in his hand, he exclaimed, "Hey! Wait a minute! These these are mine!"

Aya laughed a crazy, drunken, little laugh and held up the almost empty bottle of scotch, swinging it through the air like a pendulum. "So's this," he said, still laughing.

"WHAT?!" Yohji yelped, leaping forward to grab the bottle out of Aya's hand. When he looked at it, he immediately noticed the large, red "x" he'd drawn on the label to mark it as his last bottle, and he looked back at Aya with pleading eyes. "This was my last bottle!" he protested. He rolled his eyes up toward the sky, as if it could tell him why such horrors had to be visited upon him. He looked back at Aya, who was still laughing, and muttered, "Geez, you little shit! What have I ever done to you, anyhow?" He sighed and leaned back onto his heels, holding the bottle up in front of his eyes. "Why me?" He shook his head and dropped it heavily onto his open palm, "It's it's just so horrible," he mumbled.

"Well," Hank said, indicating the empty doorstep beside him, "Why don't you join us?"

Yohji sighed and looked at the bottle again. "Might as well get to taste some of my own booze," he said as he settled in between Aya and Hank. As he sat down, he dropped the warm bomber jacket over Aya's shoulders and ordered, "Put that on."

Aya tried to shrug off the jacket's weight with a snarled, "I don't need your damn jacket."

Yohji ignored him and settled in comfortably, back against the doorway of the restaurant where he and Aya had hidden after that last mission. He glared at the redhead and snarled back, "I'm not arguing with you, you little bastard. Just put on the damn jacket and stop acting like such a shit." He paused long enough to watch, with no small amount of satisfaction, Aya shrug his arms into the coat's sleeves. He was finding that he quite liked making the redhead do what he wanted, but he knew that, once Aya was feeling better, he would lose any semblance of control over their leader. Consequently, he decided to make the best of the situation while he could. As he raised the bottle to his lips, Aya made a lightening-quick grab for it, and Yohji barely managed to jerk it out of his reach without spilling any of the precious liquid. He gently shoved the redhead aside, and said, "Nope. You've had quite enough already, I think." He gave the swordsman another appraising look and continued, "Pain killers, antibiotics, and alcohol don't mix, you know. You're a regular, walking anti-drug poster, aren't you? What're you trying to do, anyhow? Kill yourself?"

"What do you care?" Aya replied in a hard, cold voice. He refused to even look at Yohji.

Yohji shrugged and drained the bottle's remaining contents with one swallow.

"How did you find me, Yohji?" Aya asked, his tone angry and slightly sullen.

"Huh?" Yohji replied. "Oh um, I remembered that hippo sign from the other night." Hank's responding laugh caused Yohji to jump. He'd almost forgotten about the other man.

"Isn't that the most ridiculous sign you've ever seen?" Hank asked, leaning forward so that he was in Yohji's line of sight.

Aya laughed, too, a sound that surprised Yohji almost as much as seeing the normally up-tight, in-control redhead sitting in an alley drinking with a homeless guy. He turned his eyes back toward Hank and replied, "Yeah, it's a damn, damn ugly sign." He paused and then said, quietly, "Sorry about that, by the way." He dragged his thumb across his throat to indicate a corresponding red mark that ran across Hank's neck.

"Huh?" Hank asked. He put his hand to his throat in imitation of Yohji's gesture and felt the almost-healed cut. "Oh, this," he said. He shrugged. "It's OK. No hard feelings. At least I got a night in out of the weather out of it."

"Hmm," Yohji replied. He looked slightly sideways as Aya, who had fallen asleep, slumped companionably against his side, and he unconsciously shifted so that the redhead would be more comfortable. After stubbing out the cigarette he'd taken from the swordsman, he pulled the bomber jacket tighter around Aya's shivering body and zipped it up against the chilly wind. When he looked up, he saw Hank watching him with a faint smile.

"Your friend's a strange one," Hank said. He offered Yohji another cigarette from the package, followed by the lighter. When Yohji looked down at the lighter with a frown, he asked, "Yours?"

Yohji sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He lit his cigarette and then passed the lighter back to Hank. "You can keep it, though." He pulled the bag slightly toward him and began pulling the items out to inspect them. Once he had ascertained that the clothes were Aya's and not his, he replaced them. "Just checking," he said in response to Hank's questioning look. He felt one last item at the bottom of the shopping bag and lifted out the pair of shoes with a groan. He looked toward the heavens again, as if he was asking for strength, and said, "That little shit." Then, he sighed and put the shoes back in the bag.

"Shoes?" Hank asked.

"Yeah," Yohji replied, "they're mine." He glanced down at Aya, who was still sleeping soundly against his side, and said, "He's not exactly my friend. Not for lack of trying, though."

"What do you mean?" Hank asked.

Yohji shrugged off the question without responding. "You're not from here, are you? I didn't notice the other night. You speak Japanese so well, but you definitely have a foreign accent."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been trying my damndest to get out of this godforsaken country of yours, too. No offense meant," he added hastily, glancing over to see if he had offended his newest companion.

Yohji shrugged, "None taken." He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette and then removed it from his lips, holding it out in front of him for inspection. "So, where are you from?" he finally asked as he rolled the cigarette around between his index finger and thumb.

"Texas," Hank replied.

Yohji laughed, dipping his head slightly between his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. In response to Hank's questioning look, he said, "Sorry. I've met a lot of people from the United States, and a lot of people from Texas. It's funny. Most Americans, when you ask where they're from, they say: "America". But, anyone from Texas always says: "Texas", like it's a separate place. It actually took me a long time to figure out that Texas was one of the states."

Now it was Hank's turn to laugh. He fished out another cigarette and lit it as he replied, "Yeah, guess that just about sums all of us up real good Texan first, American second." He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ashes from the end of it. "We do love our state," he said wistfully, "So much so that we never want to leave, and, when we do, we spend every waking moment trying to get back there."

"So," Yohji asked, "How'd you end up here, then?"

Hank shrugged and put the cigarette back into his mouth. His words were a bit muffled since he was speaking around it, but Yohji didn't have any problem understanding him. "Ah, I was in the service. Somehow, made my way over here. I met the sweetest little 'ol gal --- Yuki." He looked off into the distance, as if he had forgotten Yohji was even present. "She was the most beautiful woman, and I I loved her. I couldn't believe it when she agreed to be my wife, but she didn't want to leave Japan. She couldn't bring herself to leave her parents. So, I I resolved that I'd never see my Texas again. But it didn't matter, as long as I could spend my life with Yuki. We were happy, too. We had a daughter." He leaned forward slightly and fished around in his back pocket until he produced a grubby photo, which he handed to Yohji. "My little Keiko."

Yohji looked down at the picture, which showed a young girl, barely a toddler. She was waving and laughing at the camera. Her hair was in pigtails tied with pink ribbons. "She's beautiful," he commented as he handed the picture back to Hank.

Hank looked at it for a moment and rubbed his finger gently across the child's face before replacing the photo in his pocket. He looked back toward the sky and continued his story, "She's a lot older now. It's probably been three, maybe four years since I've seen her. My Yuki she she was killed. In a store robbery. She she was shopping there, and guess she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time." He sighed and muttered, almost under his breath, "Damn story of my life." He wiped away a couple of tears that had gathered in his eyes, and said, "Anyhow, Yuki's parents they never really took to me. You know, me being un-Japanese and all. So, after she was dead they went to court and managed to take custody of my little girl. And, that brings me here --- no Yuki, no Keiko, and no Texas. Guess I thought I could bring them back if I drank enough. For a while it worked, and then, it just became all about the drinking and had nothing to do with them at all."

Yohji stared silently at Hank as he finished his tale. He kept thinking about Asuka. "That's that's a hell of a story," he finally replied in a soft, gentle voice. 

Hank shrugged. "Probably not compared to yours or his," he said, jerking his thumb toward the sleeping redhead.

"Yeah, guess that's true," Yohji said. He slipped his arm around Aya to give the swordsman extra warmth when he felt him shiver.

"So?" Hank asked. "Wanna reciprocate by sharing your story? I love hearing a good tale o' woe."

Yohji laughed. "My story's pretty boring, actually, and I don't really know his," he said tilting his head to the side to indicate Aya. "Aya's not one to usually share much with other people. It's part of his sparkling charm."

"Aya?" Hank asked. "He told me his name was Ran."

Yohji blinked in astonishment at the other man. He was surprised that Aya would tell a complete stranger his real name. So, Aya really liked this guy, then. He smiled at that thought, and said, "It is. We just call him Aya. Sort of like a nickname."

Hank shrugged. "But, you care about him, huh? You're friends?"

"Well," Yohji said slowly, "Not exactly. Aya's kind of like a stray cat. He lets people stay around him, but he's not really friends with anyone. And, he makes it pretty hard for other people to care about him, too. But, I guess you could say I've developed a certain fondness for him, even though he's pretty much just a thorn in my side. He's kind of like the delinquent little brother I never had. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment or something. He's got this really bad self-destructive streak. I swear he pulls most of his shit just to piss me off."

"But, you always come after him, right?" Hank prompted.

Yohji shrugged again. "The others are too afraid of him. If I didn't do it, who would?"

"He thinks he belongs down here," Hank said softly, staring at the ground between his feet. "He thinks no one cares about him; that he should be here, like me. That's why that's why he brought the clothes."

"Yeah," Yohji said slowly, with a heavy sigh. "I can't seem to get through to him, to convince him that there are people who care enough about him to be his friends. He thinks he doesn't deserve to have friends doesn't deserve to have anyone care about him." The blonde sighed and pulled the last cigarette out of the package. "Maybe, in time, I can convince him otherwise," he said as he lit the ciggie.

"He probably knows, on some level," Hank replied. He stubbed out his cigarette and stretched. "After all," he continued, "How many people live with you guys? But, he chose to give away your stuff, didn't he?"

"Right," Yohji said with a short laugh. "Theft a sure sign of friendship. The family that steals together stays together, right?"

Hank laughed in return. "Either way, he damn sure doesn't belong down here."

Yohji's response was cut off by the angry jangling of his cell phone. He fished it out of his coat pocket, being careful not to disturb Aya, who was still leaning against him, and managed to answer it after the third ring. "Yeah? Omi?" he asked. He paused for a moment, and then waved his hand in front of his face, as if the person on the other end of the phone could see him, and said, "Yeah, Yeah. I found him. No, he's OK. Yeah, I'm gonna bring him home soon."

He hung up the phone with a click, and turned to Hank. "Sorry," he said, "But, we've gotta go. I need to get Sleeping Beauty here home before our house mother has a cow."

He nudged Aya gently, and, when he received an answering groan from the redhead, he said, "Come on, sleepy head. Time to get up."

Aya slowly opened his eyes and gave Yohji a confused look. "Yo Yohji?" he asked. "What What are you doing here?"

Yohji rolled his eyes toward the sky in a "why do I even bother" sort of gesture, and replied, "I came looking for you. Are you a pain in the ass or what?"

"Mmmm," Aya replied. He yawned and stretched, rubbing his eyes sleepily, "Sorry," he said. "Can can we go home now?"

Yohji let out a short snort of laughter and replied, "Yeah." When Hank gave him a questioning look, he shrugged and explained, "Fever. He's kinda been in and out lately mostly out."

The tall blonde stood up and stretched muscles that were kinked from sitting on the cold ground too long. He bent down and pulled the redhead up behind him. Aya let Yohji lift him off the ground without protest. When he wobbled unsteadily on his feet, the older man reached out quickly to steady him. As soon as the wave of dizziness passed, Aya impatiently pushed Yohji's hands away and stumbled toward the alley entrance.

"What'd I tell you?" Yohji asked Hank. "Just like a stray cat." He paused before following Aya down the alley, and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. He shuffled through its contents and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Hank.

"Koneko no Sumu Ie," Hank read. "What's this for?"

"Come by that address, if you want a job. It's not as fun or glamorous as this," he said, gesturing at the surrounding alleyway. "But, it's honest work, and it pays. Maybe you'll eventually make enough money to get back to Texas."

"Why?" Hank asked. "You don't even know me."

Yohji shrugged and replied, "Aya likes you. That's good enough for me, and it'll be good enough for everyone else, too. He doesn't like that many people --- I know that's hard to believe, given his sparkling personality. Besides, no one belongs down here." He gave Hank a small wave and a smile as he started to turn away, but he stopped when he heard Aya call something back to him. "He says he's sorry about your coat," Yohji said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Aya.

Yohji managed to catch up with Aya in about three long strides, and he slapped him gently on the back of the head.

"What's that for?" Aya asked irritably.

"When you're feeling better, junior, we're gonna to have a long talk about what's yours and what's mine," Yohji said, with a short laugh. When Aya just stared at him, Yohji gently shoved him toward the street and growled, "Get going, OK? Omi's about to have kittens over you disappearing like that."

****


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Yohji squirmed around to find a more comfortable position in the chair he had pulled up next to Aya's bed. It had been a few days since the redhead's sudden disappearing act, and, although he seemed to be improving, Yohji was worried that he would wander off again. Consequently, the tall blonde had appointed himself as Aya's shadow, and he had started filling his days by following the redhead around the apartment and flower shop. Luckily, the swordsman hadn't seemed inclined to disappear again, and, since the others refused to let him work in the shop until he was completely well, he spent most of his time either napping on the sofa in their shared living room, or sleeping in his own room. While this operated in Yohji's favor by making it easy to keep track of Aya, it also meant that the tall blonde was spending a lot of time in what he was quickly coming to think of as the most uncomfortable chair in the universe.

'I hate this damn chair,' Yohji thought irritably as he flipped open the morning edition of the newspaper. He squirmed again and grunted as he continued to fight for just a sliver of comfort.

He twisted around to look behind him when he heard a sound at the doorway, and saw Omi standing there, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He waved his hand behind his head and called out softly, "You might as well come in, Omi. No sense in standing out there dancing around in the hall. You look like you're about to wet your pants."

"Oh uh, sorry," Omi whispered as he came into the room. "I'm uh, well, you know Aya he can be a little scary you know, if he's in a bad mood." He laughed softly as Yohji rolled his eyes and waved his hand in the air in a gesture that indicated he thought they should ignore Aya's moods. "Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say. He never acts that way with you," Omi said as he placed a mug of hot tea into Yohji's hand and nodded in response to the older man's grunt of thanks. The boy moved closer to the bed and gently pushed Aya's bangs aside, laying his hand against the swordsman's forehead. "How's he doing?" he asked, turning back toward Yohji.

"Ahh," Yohji said, shrugging. "I hate this fucking chair."

"Then why don't you get your ass back to your own room and leave me the hell alone?" Yohji and Omi both jumped at the sound of Aya's voice. The redhead had spoken without moving from his position on the bed and without opening his eyes. "I mean it," he continued, barely managing to dredge up his best icy-cold assassin tone, despite the fact that his voice was shaking, "You guys are bugging the shit out of me. Always sneaking around, checking on me, making sure I'm sleeping. All you're doing is keeping me awake. You guys are like a bunch of freakin' stalkers!" When they didn't respond, he pulled one of the pillows from under his head and threw it in their direction, smiling in satisfaction when he heard Yohji yelp as the pillow struck the cup in his hand and spilled hot tea on him.

"Oh yeah," Yohji said dryly, sucking on the burned spot on his hand, "I think he's gonna be just fine."

The tall blonde unfolded his legs and stretched as he stood up from the chair. He winked at Omi, who was watching him with wide, surprised eyes, as he picked up the pillow Aya had thrown at them, walked over to the bed, and dropped it on the redhead's face. "You're such a pain in the ass," he said in a gentle, teasing voice. When he reached the door, he turned to watch Aya grab the pillow and turn over on his side. Within seconds, it seemed that the swordsman had fallen into a sound, peaceful sleep. Yohji shook his head slightly and chuckled as he motioned for Omi to follow him out of the room.

Omi silently followed Yohji down the hall. As always, the easy give-and-take between the two oldest Weiss members surprised and mystified him. He admired Aya and appreciated the redhead's leadership skills, especially since they hadn't had one failed mission since his addition to Weiss, but he never really knew how to act around their leader. Aya was quiet and moody, almost the complete opposite of Omi's normally cheerful personality, and the swordsman's mercurial mood shifts made the boy uneasy on the best of days and frightened the hell out of him on the worst of days. He felt like he never really knew where he stood with Aya, and, although he wasn't certain, he thought Ken probably felt the same way. But, for some reason, Yohji never seemed to have that problem.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Yohji asked, glancing behind him.

"Um," Omi said shyly, "Well, I was uh just thinking. You make it look easy."

"What are you talking about?" Yohji replied. He stopped and tilted his head to one side, giving the boy a questioning glance.

"Uh dealing with him," Omi said. He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "You you're not afraid of him you know like everyone else. It's almost like like you think he's your you know like you're friends."

Yohji gave Omi a confused look and then shook his head slowly, chuckling, "I guess I never really thought about it that way, but yeah uh, yeah I guess we are friends." He leaned against the wall and stared at his shoes, "He's a real pain in the ass, you know a real moody, selfish, irritating bastard. But, he always makes sure we all come home in one piece, you know? You and Ken are usually too scared to even try to deal with him, so it's always my responsibility. And I don't know somehow, I guess I just got to where I like him. I know sounds weird. But, you know? He's not such a bad guy, if you learn to ignore the moods and crap. I think most of that is just for some reason, he's afraid to let anyone close. It's like he doesn't think he even deserves to have friends like he thinks it's wrong for anyone to care about him. Once you realize that I don't know somehow, it's hard to be scared of him." He laughed and shook his head as he turned back toward the stairs. "All this talking and pouring out our souls to each other it's like we're a couple of women. What bullshit. If I'm not careful, I'm gonna start wearing high heels and make up," he called, waving his hand behind his head.

Omi laughed and replied, "Thanks, Yohji. I think, maybe, I'll think about him differently in the future."

"Whatever," Yohji muttered as he descended the stairs.

"Thought you were watching Aya," Ken called to Yohji as the tall blonde entered the front of the flower shop. Omi was right on his heels.

Yohji glanced down at his watch as he replied, "It's almost four, Ken. How could I make you face the adoring crowds all alone?" He crossed the showroom to sit at a table near the front counter where the cash register was located. As he sat down and placed his teacup and feet on the table, he flipped open the newspaper he had been carrying under his arm and raised it in front of his face.

Ken turned from the cooler case, where he was arranging flowers for the afternoon rush, and stared at the back of Yohji's paper. "Yeah, right," he said, with a soft laugh, "Aya finally told you to leave him alone, didn't he?"

Yohji didn't reply, but he irritably rattled the paper a little, which told Ken that his guess had been right on the money. The ex-soccer player laughed again and turned back to arranging tubs of flowers in the first large cooler next to the cash register.

"Hey, Ken, don't pick on Yohji," Omi said cheerfully. He bumped Ken slightly with his hip as he carried a large potted plant past the ex-goalie toward the front of the store. He deposited the plant near the front door and then turned back toward Ken. "Besides, you know how much you hate being in here alone when school lets out for the afternoon." He gave Ken a wicked grin and said, in a teasing voice, "Of course, if you'd rather I mean, Yohji and I could always go back upstairs and leave you alone with your adoring fans."

"No, No!" Ken protested. When he turned away from the cooler to look at Omi, the panicked look in his eyes made the boy laugh. "I mean," Ken continued, recovering his composure, "The girls are already upset over not seeing Aya for the past two weeks. I'd hate to deprive them of you and Yohji, too."

Omi chuckled softly and moved over to the second cooler to help rearrange the flowers. "You are such a wimp around those girls. I swear, it's like you're afraid of them or something."

Ken grinned crookedly at Omi and said, "I uh, well, I guess I'm just shy." He laughed and stared at the floor, as if he was embarrassed, and nervously scratched the back of his head. "I just don't know what to do, you know with all of them crowding in here like that. I just get well nervous."

Yohji flipped a corner of his paper down and peered over it at the ex-goalie. He shook his head, laughing, as he said, "You are so damn sad. And you were a jock, too! Look at you! You're blushing and practically sweating, and there's not even a girl in sight!" The tall blonde sighed and went back to his paper, flipping the corner back up so that his face was hidden once again, and muttered, "Has being around me had no effect on you at all? I guess I'm going to have to put some actual time and thought into your training. Really. You're an embarrassment to all men."

The bell over the front door jangled, effectively cutting off any response from Ken. The ex-goalie glared at the back of Yohji's paper, as if he thought he could burn through it with his eyes. After a few moments, he moved away from the cooler, dusting his hands off on the front of his apron, and approached the customer who had just entered the flower shop. He waved a greeting as he approached the man, who stood just inside the doorway, nervously glancing around at the flowers and potted plants crowding the shop's shelves and the floor. He was dressed in a pair of slightly wrinkled Khaki pants and a black button-down shirt that Ken thought looked vaguely familiar. He stared at it for a few moments before he realized that it looked like one of Aya's shirts. The man was also wearing a khaki-colored cap, which he had taken off to reveal short brown hair that was lightly flecked with gray, and he was clean-shaven. He shifted from foot to foot, nervously wringing the cap in his hands.

"Hi," Ken said, approaching the man and bowing slightly. "Welcome. Can I help you?"

"Oh, hi," the man replied. He also bowed slightly and smiled a smile that seemed to consume his entire face and revealed piercing gold-brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth.

Ken couldn't help but smile in return. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Um well, yeah. I'm uh, I'm looking for someone," the man replied, still wringing the cap in nervous hands. "Is um, is Ran here?"

Omi popped up from behind the front counter to stare at the man when he heard the question. It wasn't often that someone came into the shop asking for Aya by his real name. In fact, the boy couldn't ever remember anyone coming into the shop and asking for Aya by that name; people seldom came into the shop looking for the redhead at all. He glanced nervously over at Yohji, who had flipped the corner of his newspaper down again and was staring over it at the man.

The man looked at the three people staring intently at him and started to back toward the door. He was getting the distinct feeling he had done something wrong, but he couldn't figure out exactly what. These guys were starting to make him a little nervous, and he cleared his throat as he said, "Um maybe maybe I got the wrong address."

When the man was almost to the door, Yohji looked over his shoulder toward the doorway leading to the back of the shop and the apartment they all shared. Without putting his paper down, he cleared his throat and yelled at the top of his lungs, "AAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAA! SOMEONE'S HERE TO SEE YOU!" He smiled at Ken and Omi, who had both jumped in surprise when he yelled, and flipped the paper back up to obscure his face once more. After a moment, he flipped the paper's corner back down and glanced at the man again, "Nice shoes, by the way."

The man laughed in response, and said, "Thanks. They were a gift."

Yohji motioned to one of the other empty chairs at the table, indicating that the man should sit, and, before he went back to reading his paper, he looked over at Omi and Ken, who were both standing by the counter now, and said, "Stop staring, you guys. Geez, no wonder we don't have any customers."

As the man sat down, Omi sidled over to Yohji and whispered in his ear, "Yohji, you sure this is a good idea? I mean, maybe this guy is after Aya or something. You sure it's safe?"

Yohji sighed and, with a few gestures that spoke volumes of irritation, he folded the paper and laid it on the table in front of him. He rolled his eyes at Omi and said, "Gee, why don't you say it a little louder? I mean, probably the people out on the street didn't hear you." He sighed and waved his hand from the man sitting next to him toward Omi and then Ken, saying, "This is Hank. Hank, this is Omi our resident housemother and worry wart. And, that's Ken." He pulled a package of cigarettes out of his pocket and removed two of them. He offered one to Hank, who nodded his thanks and pulled a lighter from his pocket to light, first, his cigarette, and, then, Yohji's. The tall blonde took a long drag from the cigarette and then removed it from his mouth and rolled it between his index finger and thumb as he watched his two teammates, who were both standing in front of the counter now, still staring at Hank. He sighed, "Geez. You two made of stone? Hank is a friend of Aya's. He came here for a job."

A loud thumping coming from the back room of the shop, followed by a muttered, "Who the fuck put this damn plant here?" interrupted Omi's next statement. The boy turned just as Aya came stumbling into the room, rubbing his shin. He looked rumpled and irritable, and it was obvious he had suddenly been awakened from a very sound sleep. He stretched and yawned as he snapped, "What the hell is wrong with you, Yohji? First you follow me around constantly, and now you're yelling loud enough to wake the dead."

"Don't know about the dead," Yohji replied calmly as he unfolded the paper and rattled it back into place in front of his face, "But, it was enough to wake you up. Someone's here for you."

"Huh?" Aya asked. He looked from Yohji to the man across the table from him, as if just noticing him for the first time, and blinked in confusion. The man seemed slightly familiar, but he couldn't quite place him. When the man smiled a greeting, though, all the puzzle pieces fell into place for him, and he grinned and stepped forward to shake the man's hand and thump him enthusiastically on the back as he said, "Hey! Hank! You look great! So, what're you doing here?"

"Yohji told me I could uh, come by if I wanted a job," Hank replied hesitantly. He continued smiling, but his eyes glanced nervously from Aya over to Omi and Ken, who were still staring in confusion at the scene playing out before them.

"Oh, yeah?" Aya asked. "That's a great idea. Come on in the back, and I'll show you where we keep everything." He glanced down at his watch, and then continued, "In a few minutes, you're not going to want to be out here, anyhow." In response to Hank's questioning look, he shook his head and said, "Don't even ask." As he passed by Omi and Ken, who were standing, shoulder-to-shoulder, in front of the counter staring at him with open mouths, he snapped, "What the fuck is wrong with you two? You guys meet Hank?" When they nodded mutely, Aya shook his head and muttered, "Idiots," as he motioned for Hank to follow him into the back room.

Omi and Ken turned, almost in unison, to watch Aya and Hank leave the room. "That was weird," Omi whispered to Ken.

"Yeah," Ken replied, "Very, very weird." He looked up toward the shop's front door as the bell jangled again and a large group of giggling, chattering school girls walked into the shop, suddenly filling it with noise. They were all wearing the uniform for one of the girls' schools a few blocks away, which was, normally, the first school to dismiss students at the end of the day. Ken groaned and muttered, almost under his breath, "Ugh. They're here."

One of the girls spotted him, and called, "Look! There he is! It's Ken! Ken!" She waved at him, and, when he waved back, it was as if he had given a signal to open the floodgates. Within seconds, a crowd of girls had surrounded him, each one of them reaching and jumping over her companions in an effort to grab at his sleeve or apron. They were all talking at once, and their voices continued to get louder and louder as they struggled to be heard over the girls around them, until they had reached an almost deafening level as they asked Ken for roses, or potted plants, or the perfect gift for a friend or boyfriend. The ex-goalie continued to back away from the crowd, until his back was against the counter, preventing further retreat. He glanced over toward Omi, as if the boy would be able to rescue him, but Omi was similarly occupied with his own adoring group of girls.

"Yohji," Ken called to the tall blonde, who was still sitting at the table, reading his paper, a small island of calm in the middle of a chaotic sea of humanity. "You could help, you know."

Yohji never looked away from the paper, but he replied, "Sadly, they are all too young for me."

********************************************************

Although it had been weeks since that last mission, Aya hadn't completely recovered. His fever still came and went, even though it wasn't as high as before, and he still had a shuddering, hacking cough that seemed to come straight from the bottom of his lungs. To top it all off, he couldn't seem to get enough sleep or shake the dizzy spells that seemed to overtake him on a moment's notice. It was taking him a lot longer to heal than he thought it should, and he hated his own weakness. Consequently, Aya didn't have any desire to face the throngs of school girls crowding into the store. As one school after another ended classes for the day, more and more girls flocked to the store and the noise from outside continued to rise until it reached an almost-deafening roar that forced Aya to raise his voice in order to be heard over the din in the front room. After about two hours, he was practically yelling at Hank, who kept glancing nervously from Aya's obviously irritated expression to the door behind them, as if he could spot the unseen source of the continually escalating noise. Finally, Aya sighed heavily and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose tightly between his index finger and thumb.

"Hey," Hank asked, moving closer to the redhead to be heard above the noise in the shop, "You all right? I could go get someone." He peered at the younger man in concern and was just about to go back to the front of the shop to get Yohji when Aya shook his head and waved his hand slightly to indicate he was okay.

"No I'm fine. I I just have a headache," Aya replied. He gave Hank a weak smile, and then muttered, almost under his breath, "Shit. I can't take this." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as if he was preparing to meet a very unfriendly and tough foe, and then he slowly stalked toward the door leading to the store's front room.

"IF YOU'RE NOT BUYING ANYTHING, THEN LEAVE!"

Aya's deep voice cut through the noise in the shop like a sharp knife, almost immediately silencing most of the chattering and giggling. The Weiss leader stood behind the cash register, arms crossed across his chest, and glared daggers at the girls crowding around Ken and Omi. His angry words were enough to cause most of them to skitter out the door and cluster near the store's front windows to peer inside at the four handsome florists. As they ran past his table, Yohji could hear most of them muttering excitedly about finally catching a glimpse of Aya after his prolonged absence from the store. The remaining girls, most of whom were members of Aya's little fan club to begin with, all rushed, almost in unison, toward the front counter to cluster around the irritated redhead, just as they had with Omi and Ken. They pushed and shoved at each other in an attempt to get close enough to reach across the counter to touch the swordsman, and they all seemed to be talking at once, asking Aya where he had been, how he was, if he was feeling better, and if he was finally coming back to work in the store.

Yohji watched the swordsman out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to read his paper. He could tell that Aya hadn't been ready for the sudden onslaught. The redhead's violet-blue eyes widened, and Yohji saw him start to back away from the counter, as if he intended to retreat into the back room to escape his adoring fans. Suddenly, the older man saw the color completely drain from Aya's face, and the swordsman gripped the front counter as a wave of dizziness seemed to come over him. One look at his ghostly pale face, the white knuckles gripping the counter as if it was his only life line, and the way his body started to tremble was enough to cause Yohji to break his paper-reading façade. The tall blonde was on his feet and across the floor space separating him from Aya within seconds. He placed himself behind the counter and cash register, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with the younger man, and he felt Aya's body sag slightly against his.

"THAT'S IT! WE'RE CLOSED! EVERYONE OUT!" Yohji yelled, struggling to be heard above the noise.

He motioned to Omi and Ken, both of whom had moved back to the flower coolers to assist the few paying customers in the shop, to start ushering the school girls out of the store. The two youngest Weiss members hadn't been paying any attention to what was happening with their leader, and Omi nodded in wide-eyed understanding as soon as he got a good look at Aya. The boy whispered something to Ken, and the ex-goalie immediately started to herd the shocked fangirls toward the door. Within minutes, Ken had managed to completely clear the shop, while Omi rang up the last few customers' purchases. Yohji sighed, relieved at the sudden absence of noise in the store.

"Man! I've never seen anything like that," Hank said. The sound of his voice caused Yohji to jump slightly; he had completely forgotten that the man was there, and he turned to give Hank, who had been standing in the doorway to the back room, watching the scene with the schoolgirls, with an easy, crooked grin covering his face. Hank laughed softly and shook his head. "Is it always like that?" he asked.

Before Yohji could reply, Omi, who was checking out the final customer of the day, commented flatly, "Only on school days." He smiled at the customer as he handed the flowers across the counter and said, "Thanks. Please come again soon."

Hank laughed slightly in response to Omi's tone. He leaned against the doorjamb and said, "You guys sound like you don't like the attention. I know guys, back home, who'd pay good money if you could bottle whatever it is you fellas have that attracts so much female attention."

In response to Omi and Ken's confused looks, Yohji commented, "Hank's from Texas", as if that explained everything. He turned back toward Hank and said, "Omi, Ken, and Aya aren't too crazy about all the attention. For my part, I don't mind." He sighed wistfully as he looked toward the ceiling, "If only they were older."

The sudden feeling of a heavy weight against him, causing him to stumble slightly to one side, brought Yohji's attention back to Aya. "Hey," he said, grabbing the redhead's shoulders to hold him upright, "You all right?" He ducked his head slightly to peer closely at Aya's face and frowned in concern. Yohji looked up to make eye contact with Omi and Ken, who had come to stand slightly behind Aya and were both watching their leader with worried looks, and said, softly, "Get him some water, OK?"

"Yeah," Omi replied. He darted off into the back of the store.

Yohji looked at Ken and said, "Finish closing up. Hank's going to work here from now on, so he'll help you. It'll be a good way for him to learn how to do it."

"Sure," Ken said. He moved toward the front of the store, motioning for Hank to follow him. The older man nodded and silently moved off behind Ken, leaving Yohji and Aya alone behind the counter.

"Aya!" Yohji hissed. He shook the younger man slightly until he managed to draw Aya's attention. "Are you all right?"

Aya nodded and replied, "I I'm fine. I I'm just a little dizzy " His voice trailed off as his knees buckled, taking them both to the floor, and darkness rushed in all around him.

****


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Aya awoke to darkness engulfing him like a shroud. He blinked into it and wondered, for a moment, if his eyes were really open, or if he was still sleeping, but the view of the quarter moon through the window above his bed told him that he was definitely awake. He stared at the ceiling above him and realized that it didn't look quite right. The ceiling in his room was white and unmarred, but this ceiling had a large crack in the plaster directly above the bed. He stared at the moon through the window and slowly tried to put the pieces together. He could remember being in the shop that afternoon, showing Hank around the back room and supply area, yelling for the school girls to clear the shop, and then nothing.

'Wait a minute,' he thought as his mind slowly turned over the pieces of information he had, 'I don't have a window above my bed.' He blinked again and rubbed his hand over his face.

"You finally awake?" Yohji asked.

The sound of his friend's voice drew Aya's attention away from the window and strange ceiling and toward the side. The room was dark, but he could barely discern the shape of someone sitting in a large, overstuffed armchair next to the bed. The shadowy figure was leaning back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him. The red glow from Yohji's cigarette was the only light in the room, and it dimly illuminated the blonde's face. Aya could see it reflected in the older man's dark glasses, and he could see wisps of smoke curling around the Yohji's head.

"Uh," Aya responded. He groaned and stretched slightly. "Don't smoke in here," he said. His voice was soft, barely a whisper.

Yohji pulled his legs in toward the chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He grinned at Aya and said, in a slightly teasing voice, "You can't tell me what to do in my room." He laughed at the wide-eyed look he got in response to his statement.

Aya paused for several minutes as he let this information slowly settle into his foggy brain. Just when Yohji was beginning to think the younger man had fallen asleep again, Aya asked, "W what why am I in your room?"

Aya could see the red glow from his cigarette move up and down as Yohji shrugged. "This chair is more comfortable than the one in your room," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. He was relieved when he heard Aya laugh in response. He had tried to hide it from the others, but the redhead's sudden black-out episode had really scared him. It had been a whole day since Aya had passed out in the store, and the swordsman had been unconscious all that time.

Aya sighed, and, even in the dim light, Yohji could see him place his arm over his face. When Aya spoke, his voice was muffled. "Guess I surprised everyone this afternoon, huh?"

"What are you talking about?" Yohji asked. "This afternoon funny. You've been out cold for a whole day, my little friend." He paused and watched as this information sank in before continuing, "And, yeah, you scared the shit out of all of us." He leaned forward and ground his cigarette out in an ashtray. "You've gotta start taking better care of yourself, Aya. I mean it. That little jaunt out into the street a few days ago probably set your recovery back by a good week or two. I can understand you wanting to give something back to Hank you know, for what happened that night, but you shouldn't have even been out of bed. Not to mention letting yourself get in this condition in the first place. Shit! We didn't even know you were that sick until you practically had one foot in the grave!"

"What do you care?" Aya snapped, but his voice was soft and resigned, instead of his normal hard, icy tone.

It almost sounded as if Aya had given up on anyone ever caring about him, and Yohji didn't like the sound of it. He was frustrated, and he just couldn't figure out how to get through to the redhead. Finally, he sighed heavily and snapped, "Is being mouthy like that just an automatic reaction to every damn thing anyone says to you, or are you really that fucking stupid?" He shook his head irritably and stood, lighting another cigarette. He stared for a few minutes at the figure lying silently on the bed. Aya wouldn't even look at him. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air, as if to indicate he was washing his hands of the whole thing. "That's it. I've You know what? I've just had it. I've had it with you and your shitty attitude. For the record, I care, Aya. I care what happens to you. I care when you don't come home when you're supposed to, and I care when you pull one of your stupid disappearing acts. When you're gone, when you don't come home, when you disappear I worry that you might be dead in some alley somewhere. I can't stand the thought of you dying alone like that because I'm I'm your friend. I can't understand why the hell you can't just realize that. Why the hell else would I practically stalk you? Why the hell else would I spend I don't even know how many days sitting around in a fucking uncomfortable chair just to make sure you keep breathing? Why the hell else would I always come looking for you when you decide to do a fade out?" He stared at Aya for a few moments, and, when the younger man didn't reply, he shook his head and turned toward the door as he said, "You can stay here tonight, if you want. I'll bunk in your room."

"I'm sorry," Aya's voice was so soft that Yohji barely heard him, but it was still loud enough to stop the tall blonde from leaving the room.

Yohji paused, his hand on the door knob. "It's it's all right," he said softly. He silently breathed a sigh of relief. When he blew up at Aya, he had known that his words might drive a wedge between the two of them and cause the swordsman to completely withdraw, but it appeared that his little gamble had paid off. He turned away from the door and returned to his chair. He figured he had pushed the swordsman enough, so he sat quietly and watched his companion, waiting for Aya to make the first move.

"I I'm not really used to having friends," Aya said slowly. He didn't look at Yohji as he spoke, but kept his eyes carefully glued to the ceiling directly above the bed. "It's it's been a really long time since I've thought that I deserved to have anyone care about me, and I I guess I'm just not very good at it."

"It's OK," Yohji said. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "It doesn't matter whether you think you deserve it or not. There are people who care about you. Me, Omi, even Ken, although he's afraid of you ninety-nine point nine percent of the time." He paused and smiled as he heard Aya chuckle.

"Ken and Omi are all right?" Aya asked.

"Yeah," Yohji replied. "We kept the shop closed today so they could show Hank around and help him find a place to live. They found a place not far from here within walking distance, anyhow. They took him shopping for some things to set up house --- futon, cooking stuff, some groceries. I think they're still out getting him settled in. He was pretty worried about you, too, by the way. You really made some kind of impression on that guy, and my guess is that's not too easy to do, considering what he's probably seen in the time he's been on the streets."

"You you think it's OK? With Hank, I mean?" Aya asked, a bit hesitantly.

Yohji sighed. "Well, it's not going to be easy keeping our night jobs a secret with another pair of eyes around the place. But, I think he can probably keep his mouth shut. I don't think there's any reason to drag her into things now, but, when the time comes, we can clear it with Manx. She'll get Persia to buy off on it, too."

"You think Omi and Ken will be OK with it? It it probably wasn't fair to to bring him in without even asking them."

Aya saw the cigarette glow move up and down as Yohji shrugged. "It'll be all right," he responded. "You like the guy, right? That's good enough for them."

"People I like," Aya said, his voice slightly bitter, "Don't tend to live very long." He sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position, running his hand through his hair. "I I guess that's why I tried to to not like you guys. I guess I thought maybe it would keep you all safe, somehow." He sighed and shook his head as he swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood on shaky legs. "I I don't know what I thought. It's stupid."

Yohji stood quickly to steady Aya as he swayed and appeared close to falling. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked. His voice was sharper than he had meant it to be, and he winced as Aya tensed slightly and tried to move away from him. "I'm sorry, Aya," he said in a softer voice, "I didn't mean to snap."

Aya shrugged slightly. "I'm going back to my room," he said in response to Yohji's question.

Yohji gently lowered Aya back onto the bed. "No dice," he said. "There's no way I'm spending even one more night in the most uncomfortable chair in the world. You'll stay right here, and I don't want to see you even trying to move an inch out of this bed until I say it's OK."

"You don't have to stay with me," Aya protested, but he turned over on his side to face the wall, his back to the older man.

"I know," Yohji replied, settling back into the chair.

****


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

"Hey," Yohji called as he entered the kitchen from the door to the outside. He paused long enough to remove his shoes and hang his jacket on a hook just inside the door. "Where's Aya?" he asked.

Omi was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away at his laptop. He had turned to watch Yohji, and now he smiled at the older man. "In there," he replied, tilting his head to the side to indicate the living room.

Yohji frowned. "What?! I didn't tell him he could be up and wandering around. He's supposed to be in bed, resting." He shook his head irritably. "That guy. What a pain in the ass." He started to push past the table to enter the living room, but Omi's voice stopped him.

"Don't go off half-cocked, Yohji. He's sleeping on the sofa. That's all. He only came downstairs about twenty minutes ago. Otherwise, he hasn't been out of bed all day."

"Oh," Yohji commented. He continued toward the living room, but paused just in the doorway. "By the way," he asked, turning back toward Omi, "How's your school report going? Isn't that the one you were supposed to finish the night Aya got sick?"

Omi nodded. "Yeah. I've been playing hooky from school trying to finish it, and I can't stay away that much longer without getting held back." He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I hate history," he said, with a sigh. "But, it's almost done finally!"

Yohji laughed and continued into the living room. He stopped behind the sofa, leaning on its back, and watched Aya sleeping. Another week had passed since the redhead had passed out in the shop, and Yohji had had his hands full keeping Aya in bed since then. But, it had been worth it. He still needed a lot of sleep, but it seemed that his fever had finally disappeared for good, and his color was almost back to normal.

"Anything wrong?" Omi asked as he came to stand next to the tall blonde.

Yohji glanced down at the youngest Weiss member and shook his head. "Nah," he said, "I was just thinking. He's almost cute, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Omi said, laughing, "When he's sleeping."

Yohji chuckled in return. "How did things go in the shop today?" he asked.

"Fine," Omi said, shrugging. "Aya wanted to work a shift, but Ken wouldn't let him. I think he's almost as afraid of you as he is of Aya."

Yohji laughed in response to Omi's statement. Before leaving that morning, he had told both Omi and Ken that, under no circumstances, were they to allow Aya to do anything other than sleep. Ken had initially protested, since Yohji's absence would leave them short-handed, but the ex-goalie had been wise enough to let any additional complaints go unspoken when the oldest Weiss member had threatened to skin him alive if he let Aya do any work.

"Anyhow," Omi continued, "Hank worked all day with Ken, so I didn't even have to do one shift today. Ken thought that someone should keep an eye on Aya, you know since you weren't around. You know how scared he is of Aya. Even being sick like this well, Aya would just run right over him. So, Hank offered to work the store so I could look after him. Besides, I think he was trying to do me a favor. He overheard me yesterday telling Ken that I really needed to finish this report. He's a really nice guy." Omi turned back toward the kitchen and his waiting laptop, but he called back over his shoulder, "This morning, when it was slow, he went up to sit with Aya for a while. When I went up a few minutes after, to check on them, they were playing cards. Aya was **laughing**." He shook his head and repeated, "Laughing. I can't remember ever hearing him do that before."

"Yeah," Yohji said. "Birds of a feather. Go figure. I think having Hank around might be good for him. And, maybe for all of us."

"By the way," Omi called from the kitchen, "Ken said that Hank was a huge hit with the fangirls this afternoon. He apparently already has quite a following, even after only one day."

"Really," Yohji said. He turned around to face the kitchen, leaning against the back of the sofa. He laughed. "Must be that Texas charm."

A small sound drew his attention back toward the sofa, and he turned around to see two tired, slightly irritated, bluish-violet eyes blinking up at him. "Hey," he said, leaning forward, over the back of the sofa.

"Ugh," Aya said, rolling his eyes, "You **are** stalking me. You're a sick, sick man."

Yohji chuckled. "That sounds suspiciously like the "ice man" just cracked a joke."

"Yeah, well, shit happens," Aya said in a flat tone. He rolled over onto his side, so that he was facing the sofa's back, and snuggled further into the warm upholstery.

"Hey, wait a minute," Yohji said, reaching down to shake Aya slightly. "Before you go back to sleep, I have something for you." He reached down to pick up a large white box he had carried in and set on the floor next to him. Aya had turned over to lie on his back, and Yohji deposited the box on his stomach.

The redhead gave Yohji a suspicious, narrow-eyed glance, and asked, "What's this?" He regarded the box warily, as if he expected it to explode at any moment.

"A present, junior. Open it."

Aya gave Yohji another suspicious glance, but he opened the box and peered inside. He was still glaring at Yohji as he pulled out the item contained within the box and found himself face to face with a statue. It was a blue, dancing hippo wearing a pink tutu and ballerina slippers. The hippo's eyes were closed, but it had long eyelashes and huge, red lips. It's "arms", for lack of a better word, were raised above its head, and it stood on one foot with the other slippered foot held at a dainty angle, in depiction of a perfect pirouette. Aya's wary expression quickly changed to one of confusion and then to one of amusement as he held the statue up to inspect it.

"So?" Yohji asked, "What do you think?"

"It's hideous," Aya said, laughing. "Absolutely hideous."

"Glad you like it," Yohji replied.

"But why?" Aya asked as he carefully placed the statue on the floor next to the sofa.

"I just thought that maybe, the next time you're feeling alone it might sort of I don't know remind you of where you belong, and that there are people who care," Yohji said. He reached out and gently ruffled Aya's hair, smiling when the redhead slapped at his hand in what was an almost involuntary gesture.

Aya picked up the statue and took another good, long look at it. He finally placed it back onto the floor and turned onto his side again, facing the back of the sofa. Just before he fell asleep, he smiled crookedly at Yohji and mumbled, "Thanks, Yohji."

The tall blonde stood there for a few more minutes and watched as Aya slipped into a deep sleep. He smiled and pulled a blanket up over his friend as he whispered, "You're welcome."

****


End file.
